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THE OUTLAW OF CAMARGUE. 


JUST PUBLISHED. 

The Circus=Rider’s Daughter. 

By F. v. Brackel. i2mo, cloth, special design 
on cover.$1.25 


That to be thoroughly Catholic a story need not be weak 
or commonplace is proved conclusively by this powerfully 
told tale. It is a story of to-day, and its characters are just 
such people as we meet daily. Nora, the .circus-rider’s 
daughter, is one of the most beautiful figures in modern 
fiction : a pure girl who by strength of character and no¬ 
bility of soul rises above her surroundings, and stands a 
living example of the truth of the motto, “God’s flowers 
bloom in any soil.” Curt, her affianced lover, is a well-mean¬ 
ing, weak young man completely dominated by his strong- 
willed, caste-loving mother. Lilly, the loyal friend of the 
heroine, is “a girl with an ambition,” which is eventually 
gratified, while Dahnow, the noble-hearted, is a man with 
whom every woman ought to fall in love—and never does. 
We shall not attempt to sketch the plot, but content ourselves 
with assuring our readers that the story is interesting from 
start to finish. 





MeKc)f>e/rp SesSoT^Je, /i23~/$47, 

1 / 


A. DE^LAMOTHE. 


THE 


OUTLAW OF CAMARGUE. 


TRANSLATED BY 

ANNA T. SADLIER. 


• JAR 17 



NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO: 

BENZIGER BROTHERS, 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic See. 

1896, 



Copyright, 1896, by Benziger Brothers. 


CONTENTS. 


Madame Theresine, 

CHAPTER I. 

CHAPTER II. 


Father-in-Law and Son-in-Law,. 34 

CHAPTER III. 

The Return from Arles,. 63 



CHAPTER IV. 

Les Saintes Maries, 

CHAPTER V. 

The Pilgrimage, . . 


Ren£e,. 

CHAPTER VI. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Maritime Camargue, 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The “Ferrade,”. . 

CHAPTER IX. 


“Man Proposes, God Disposes,” 


233 












6 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

CHAPTER X. 

’ 93 ,.257 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Terror, . '. 287 




THE OUTLAW OF CAMARGUE. 


CHAPTER I 


MADAME THERESINE 


HE was in the garden, which was separated from 



the highroad by a hedge of prickly furze, gath¬ 
ering lilies and roses, pinks and jasmines, all pearly 
with dew, and throwing them into one of those light 
osier baskets which in Provence are called cana- 
stelles. All the while she was singing joyously in 
the musical dialect of the Languedoc, and her song 
was one known to all the magnanarelles : 


“ O Magali, ma tant amado, 
Mete la teste au fenestroun : 


Escouto un pau aquesto aubado 
De tambourin e de viouloun ! ” * 


* “ O Magali, my much-beloved, 

Show thyself at thy window, 

And hark to the tambours and viols 
That now serenade thee ! ” 


7 




8 


MADAME TH^RtfSlNE. 


Some one from behind the hedge replied, in a 
voice as fresh and joyous as her own 

“ Ei plen d’estello aperamount; 

L’auro es toumbado, 

Mai lis estello paliran, 

Quand te veiran ! ” * 

“ Santa Maria! it is you, Monsieur Frederic!” 
cried the first singer, standing on tiptoe, the better 
to see the handsome young officer of the Queen’s 
household who, in undress uniform and with a light 
portmanteau strapped to his saddle-girths, had 
drawn up his horse close to the hedge behind which 
the fair Provengale was gathering in her odorous 
harvest. 

“ As you see, dear Theresine,” replied the young 
man; adding, “ Is Germaine in the garden? ” 

“Neither in the garden nor in the house,” an¬ 
swered Theresine. “ Of course you were not ex¬ 
pected to-day, and Mile. Germaine went yesterday 
to Arles.” 

“Alone?” 

“ No, with your mother and the Commander.” 

“ That is pleasant,” said the young officer, evi¬ 
dently disappointed. “ Can you tell me when they 
will be back ? ” 


* “ The heaven above is full of stars, 
The wind has fallen. 

But the stars must pale 
In seeing thee ! ” 



MADAME TH^R^SINE. 


9 


“ To-day, certainly, and most probably in an 
hour. 

“ I am tempted to go and meet them. Did they 
mention by what road they would come back ? ” 

“ They mentioned nothing about it; but you 
know, if it is not by Saint-Gilles, or by les Saintes, 
or by the banks of the Valcar&s, it will surely be 
through the fields.” 

“ That is to say, by one of the four cardinal 
points,” said Frederic, who, more and more annoyed, 
decapitated the flowering heads of the furze with the 
end of his whip. “ And really it is fortunate there 
are no more, because I should be still more puzzled 
which to take.” 

“ What would you? You know Mile. Germaine, 
and are aware that she never goes over the same 
road twice if she can help it.” 

“ Ma foi, it was well worth my while to kill my 
horses, and to ride post-haste here from Lyons, for 
the sake of being a day sooner and taking my people 
by surprise! I need not have hurried so much, and 
might have stopped to pay a flying visit at Lyons, to 
our cousins the de Blesignans. It would have saved 
me that journey which I have to take in a few days.” 

“In a few days?” cried the Provengale. “You 
are not off your horse yet, and you talk of depart¬ 
ing.” 

“ To return soon. ” 

“ If Mile. Renee will let you.” 


10 


MADAME THERESINE. 


“ I do not see very clearly why she should pre¬ 
vent me. Ill as she is, she cannot have much need 
of me, especially when she keeps herself shut up 
between the four walls of her room, and has to take 
tisanes. ” 

“ Perhaps she will go out more than you think,” 
said Theresine, with a malicious smile, which she con¬ 
cealed by bending over her basket of flowers. “ I 
should not be surprised if she came here to ride horse¬ 
back, hunt partridges, and assist at our ferrades . ” 

“ Ma foi , I know her so little,” said Frederic, 
“ that I have no idea whether she has these amazon 
tastes or not, but I fancy she is quiet in her ways; 
and from what Germaine, who was three years with 
her at the convent in Avignon, told me, I think she 
is too frail and delicate to find much charm in our 
way of living. ’ ’ 

Theresine smiled again. 

“ And are you as great a hunter and fisher as you 
used to be? ” she asked. 

“ I am keener than ever about such amusements,” 
said he; “ and now that I have a six-months leave, 
I dream of nothing but duck-covers, and fish-ponds, 
and all the rest.” 

“ Oh, then you have come back in good time. 
The quail are passing here now in great numbers, 
and I heard yesterday that bustards had been seen 
on the Island of Tete-de-Miole. ” 

“Bustards were really seen there?” cried the 


MADAME TH£r£sINE. 


II 


young officer, his hunting instincts gaining the upper 
hand. “ I am delighted; they are royal game, a 
hundred times better value than all the pheasants of 
the parks of Versailles or Fontainebleau. To-morrow 
at latest, having meantime embraced my mother, I 
shall set out with your father for the Valcar£s; the 
weather is superb for shooting in the marshes, and 
between our good Bernard and myself I hope we 
shall bring back a load of game.” 

“ My father would like nothing better than to 
accompany you on this pleasure-party,” said the 
young woman, “for you know that a musket never 
weighed much upon his shoulders, and that a bag 
was never too heavy for him; but just now it will 
be impossible for him to do it.” 

“ What do you mean ? Will his legs refuse to 
carry him ? ’ ’ 

“ Pitchere ! for three weeks he has walked on 
crutches, and now his rheumatism keeps him con¬ 
fined to his chair.” 

“ Poor Bernard ! he must have been imprudent in 
some way—spent too many nights a Vesper eP 

“He is no longer young,” said Ther£sine, sadly 
shaking her head. 

“ Bah! he is scarcely sixty,” said Frederic. “We 
shall have many a good day’s sport together yet. 
Unfortunately I do not know whom I shall find in the 
meantime to take his place in managing the boat 
and all that.” 


12 


MADAME TH^RESINE. 


“ My husband will take his place.” 

“ Your husband? ” cried Frederic in astonishment. 
“ You are joking. Show me your hand.” 

She burst out laughing, raised her hand above the 
hedge, and showed a plain band of gold upon her 
finger. 

“ So you are really married ? ” 

“ More than two months ago. Did you not know ? ” 

“ The first I heard of it ; it was a pretty trick for 
you to play me, getting married without saying a 
word to your foster-brother! ” 

“ My husband begged the Commander to inform 
you of our marriage, and I was sure that Mile. Ger¬ 
maine had written to you about it.” 

“ Neither of them gave me an inkling of it. Ger¬ 
maine, because she is always in such a hurry to tell 
the news that she often fancies she has told it in ad¬ 
vance; and my uncle only takes up his pen to write 
his rascal of a nephew a homily on the duties of 
his profession.” 

“ The nephew would much prefer a roll of louis 
d’or. ” 

“ Oh, much indeed, or even a handful of pistoles,” 
replied Frederic. “ But that’s not the question just 
now. What is your husband’s name ? ” 

“ He is a worthy lad of your acquaintance — 
Marius.” 

“ What Marius? There are as many of the name 
here as there are quail in the Crau.” 


MADAME TH^RESINE. 


13 


“ This is Marius from the Commandery.” 

“ There are ten at the Commandery.” 

“ This is the one who used to hunt with you.” 

“ Ah, Marius the huntsman, my uncle’s adopted 
son, my rival at the chase. Yes, I know him; a 
worthy youth whom I used to like very much, but 
who did not like me.” 

“ How can you say such a thing, Monsieur Fred¬ 
eric ?” cried Th£r£sine. “ He often spoke of you, 
and I can assure you—” 

“ That he hates me because I used to have better 
shots than he.” 

“ On the contrary, he likes and admires you.” 

“Ta! ta! ta! myTh£resine; unless he has changed, 
he would gladly send me to Old Nick, ever since I 
brought down the partridges which he had just missed; 
he never forgave me.” 

“ It is true that he prides himself upon his reputa¬ 
tion as a huntsman.” 

“ Ha! ha! we are getting at the truth. But you 
see I have a double crow to pluck with you. You 
married without telling me a word about it, and mar¬ 
ried my enemy. However, fortunately there are the 
ponds and the marsh of Grand-Mar between him 
and me.” 

“ We do not live at the Commandery now,” said 
Ther£sine, blushing. 

“Ah, indeed! But since I find you here, your 
dwelling cannot be very far off,” said Frederic, who, 


14 


MADAME THERESINE. 


for the greater convenience of conversation, had 
passed his leg over the head and shoulders of his 
steed, and sat carelessly upon the edge of the saddle. 
“ Where are you living now ? ” 

“ Here,” smiled the Provengale. “ My father is 
not able to do the work that he used to, looking 
after the timber, game, and all that. Your mother 
took Marius in his place.” 

“ Better and better; in my absence you install 
the enemy here; there is only one thing more to 
be done.” 

“What is that?” 

“ Put us out, and take our places.” 

“ Monsieur Frederic,” said the young woman, her 
eyes full of tears, “ I know very well that you are 
jesting; but do not say that either to my father or 
Marius: my husband would leave the house at once.” 

“Come, come, you little goose,” said Frederic, 
“ you are turning jest into earnest. Dry your eyes 
with that rose, and go on with your song. You 
Provengale women are as giddy as grasshoppers, and 
should be always singing like them.” 

“ You see, it is—” 

“I see you are my sister, that your husband is a 
good friend of mine, that we will have some fine 
sport together, and that, as I am somewhat rusty 
after these months among the Queen’s Dragoons, he 
will have to give me a few lessons.” 

Meanwhile I have left you sitting on your horse, * ’ 


MADAME THERESINE. 


*5 


said Theresine, deeply moved, “ and have never 
thought of opening the gate for you. It was very 
thoughtless of me ; I will run and draw the bolt 
now.” 

li No, no, stay; it is not worth while. I will get 
in as I can. So you fasten the gates here, now ? ” 

“ Only the gate of the courtyard; but the other 
gates are too low for your horse.” 

“ Bah ! ” said the officer, “ my horse, as you 
call this sorry beast, can pass anywhere ; and for 
myself, when I find gates too low I try this plan.” 

So saying, and without the slightest hesitation, he 
rose in his saddle and, resting his hands lightly on 
either side of it, sprang with one bound into the 
garden. 

“ Good heavens ! ” cried Theresine, “ you do not 
seem to have grown very rusty yet. But at all 
events you were near putting both feet into my 
basket.” 

Frederic laughed. 

“Shall I help you to gather flowers?” he said. 
“ I have a splendid method.” 

And he began to cut off their heads with his riding- 
whip. 

“ Ah, stop, Monsieur Frederic, you will spoil all ! ” 
cried the Provengale, in a supplicating tone. 

“ What are you going to do with all these flowers ? ” 
asked Frederic. “You have enough now to decorate 
the whole house.” 


i6 


MADAME TH£R£SINE, 


“ Do you know what day this is ? ” 

“ Par bleu ! it’s the twenty-third of May.” 

“ Pardon me, the twenty-fourth.” 

11 I believe you are right, but it makes no differ¬ 
ence.” 

“ On the contrary, it makes a great deal.” 

“ Why ?” 

“ Because the twenty-fourth is the eve of the 
twenty-fifth. ” 

“ It is something like, ‘ a quarter of an hour be¬ 
fore his death M. de La Palisse was still alive.’ I 
begin to think you are making fun of me.” 

“You know very well that I would not take such 
a liberty, Monsieur Frederic.” 

“ I am not so sure about that. But what connec¬ 
tion have these flowers with the twenty-fifth of 
May ?” 

“ Only that to-morrow morning your mother, 
Mile. Germaine, the Commander, and others set out 
for les Saintes.” 

“ Oh, I forgot! to-morrow is the Feast of the 
Three Marys.” 

“ Do they not celebrate the feast on that day in 
Paris ? ” asked Th£r£sine. 

“ They do not concern themselves much, either 
at Paris or Versailles, ” said the young man, laughing, 
“ about our poor Marys.” 

“Yet they are great saints,” said Theresine, in¬ 
dignantly. 


MADAME TH^R^SINE. 


7 


“I do not say anything to the contrary,” said 
Frederic, “ but no one knows of them in Paris.” 

“ Then your Paris is a country of savages and 
heathens,” said Theresine. 

The epithet “savage” applied by the peasant of 
Camargue to the wits and savants of the court made 
Frederic laugh heartily. 

“ I hope you have not become like them,” said 
Theresine, regarding him anxiously. 

“ No, no, do not be afraid,” said Frederic, seri¬ 
ously. “ No, thank God, I still hold, and will al¬ 
ways hold, I hope, to my faith, my religion, my 
family, my country, my dear Camargue; and I assure 
you my greatest desire is to come back some day to 
lead the same life here that my father so honorably 
led before.” 

“ I wish my father could hear you say that,” said 
Th£r£sine. “ You know, Monsieur Frederic, how 
warmly attached he is to your family; since you 
have been gone he often says to us: 1 It would be a 
great misfortune if our good master were to leave 
the country; a great misfortune for Camargue, a 
great misfortune for him likewise.’ ” 

“ Why is Bernard afraid that I would leave the 
country ? ” 

“ Because the nobility all leave their domains to 
go and live in Paris or Versailles. He says the 
castles are vacated one after the other, and that the 
court attracts nobles as a mirror attracts larks.” 


18 


MADAME THERtfSINE. 


“ Your father is right, Theresine. Every one 
rushes thither; the provinces are deserted; the lords 
forget the peasants, the peasants forget their lords; 
the bond which unites them one to the other is 
broken by prolonged absence. And as they do not 
see one another, they cease to care for one another. 
To-day it is indifference, to-morrow it may be 
hatred; who knows where it will end? Perhaps the 
sons of those who would have died to defend their 
lords will be the first to set fire to their castles.” 

“ If the lords see all this, why do they continue 
to abandon their manors?” asked the Proven^ale, 
who had suddenly become sad and serious, while dis¬ 
tractedly plucking to pieces the petals of a rose which 
had fallen from her basket. 

“ Ask the moths why they come every evening to 
singe their wings in the flame of the lamp. Glitter 
attracts men as it does insects; and if you knew the 
allurements of Paris and Versailles, if you'were pres¬ 
ent at the balls, reviews, banquets, if you could see 
that magnificent palace of Versailles with its foun¬ 
tains, statues, immense gardens, marble galleries, 
salons resplendent with gold, its great assemblies, 
its royal receptions, brilliant equipages, bustle, ani¬ 
mation, life, if you could hear the clink of gold upon 
the gaming-tables, round which stand lords and ladies 
superbly dressed—” 

“ I like our Camargue better,” interrupted The- 
r6sine, shaking her head, 


MADAME THERESINE. 


l 9 


‘‘Perhaps you are right,” said Frederic; “and 
frankly, now that I am away from it all, I will enjoy 
going with you to-morrow to the Saintes-Maries, 
trotting on a country mare, much better than gallop¬ 
ing, in splendid uniform, behind the King’s carriage 
when he takes his daily drive to Marly or Fontaine¬ 
bleau.” 

“ Then you will go with us to the pilgrimage,” 
cried the Provengale, her face brightening at the 
thought. “ You are right; it is better to honor God 
and His saints than to mock at religion like the fine 
gentlemen of Versailles, as the good Commander 
often told me.” • 

“ My uncle is not far from the truth,” said the 
traveller. “ But all this is no reason why I should 
waste time chattering here with you, instead of trying 
to get the dust off my face and clothes, while you 
are having my trunks sent up to my room and finding 
me something for breakfast.” 

“ Peckere ! you have not breakfasted yet, at this 
hour of the day ? I thought you had stopped at 
Arles, at the Inn of the Lapin qui Saute." * 

“ Certainly it would have been the wisest thing to 
do; but on arriving there I found no horses in the 
stable, so, despite the entreaties of Master Jean, the 
innkeeper, I came on to Trinquetaille, where I left 
my horse, half dead, at the other side of the bridge, 


Leaping Hare. 



20 


MADAME THERES1NE. 


with Guillaume le Ragot, the farmer of Little Argens, 
who promised to send it to me by the royal post, 
and who gave me the wretched mare upon which I 
managed to reach here, following the Grande Mont- 
longue.” 

“ You mean the Petite,” said Theresine, who, with 
her canastclle of flowers on her head and one hand 
upon her hip, was preparing to return to the house. 

‘‘ No, I tell you it was the Grande.” 

“ Then you crossed the marsh of Grand-Mar ?” 

“ Of course; it was the shortest way.” 

“ It is well for you that there has been no rain of 
late or you would not have got ouj of it very easily.” 

“ The marsh and I are old friends,” responded 
the young man, laughing, “ and it was in splendid 
order to-day.” 

“You might have had some rough work there; the 
bulls are out to-day.” 

“What do you take me for?” cried Frederic, 
laughing. “ Do you think that because I wear a 
dragoon’s uniform I have become a coward ? ” 

“ I do not say that; but with a bad horse and one 
which probably does not belong to the country, if a 
bull had given you chase you might have had a good 
deal of trouble to escape.” 

“ My * horse,’ as you persist in calling it, is an old 
country mare which was bred in a farmyard among the 
cattle; and besides, the guardians are there, mounted, 
armed with their spears, and taking every precaution 


MADAME TH^R]£SINE. 


21 


Your father would laugh at the idea of my going 
round the marsh for the sake of prudence. Would 
you have done it ? ” 

The young woman laughed, and both entered 
the chateau, which was almost deserted just then. 
Whilst Thdr£sine set down her basket of flowers and 
took off the large felt hat of stiff and ungraceful 
form, such as was then worn by all women from 
Durance to Var, Frederic proceeded to his room and 
began his toilet. 

The southern peoples all have an exaggerated form 
of speech, likely to produce confusion of ideas in all 
who have not lived among them. In Italy the merest 
tourist hears himself constantly addressed as “ your 
excellency”; a ragged Spaniard mounted on a lame 
donkey is called senor caballcro ; and in Camargue the 
name cli&teau is often given to a dilapidated farm¬ 
house which is sometimes scarcely habitable. 

It is true that if these rare habitations scattered 
over an almost uncultivated country are less than 
remarkable in themselves, the words of Cardinal 
Maury may be well applied to them: “I am little 
of myself, but much by comparison.” 

Now, stone houses in an island where there is 
not a single quarry, but where the soil is so marshy 
and sandy that it contains not even a pebble, are a 
luxury indulged in only by rich proprietors. The 
other inhabitants dwell either in simple cabins, which 
are in themselves, comparatively speaking, a luxury, 


22 


MADAME THER^SINE. 


—for wood is far from being plentiful,—or, like the 
herdsmen (called also “ guardians”), lead an almost 
nomad life, sleeping under low, pointed tents of a 
sugar-loaf form which they carry with them from one 
pasture-ground to another, and which, seen from 
afar in the naked and level plain, look like gray ant¬ 
hills scattered over the highroads or along the banks 
of streams. 

As for chateaux properly so called—except Al- 
baron, a^jort of citadel built upon the banks of the 
Lesser Rhone, not so much to protect navigation as 
to levy contributions upon vessels coming or going 
from Saint-Gilles in the days when that town had an 
importance long since obscured—the less said the 
better. 

There were no more villages. One town alone had 
dared to venture within the delta, and, finding there 
a rock quite close to the mouth of the river, had 
perched itself, or rather intrenched itself, upon it, 
growing up around a church, which is itself a fortress, 
erected by the piety of the faithful over the tomb of 
Saint Mary to protect i't from the violence and rapine 
of the Saracens. 

The Chateau Rouge belonged to the family of de 
Marcoiran, and it stood in the garden which Frederic 
had so unceremoniously entered, a modest habitation, 
surrounded by the buildings necessary for the cul¬ 
tivation of a property composed chiefly of sandy and 
marshy land, rather than a sumptuous dwelling. 


MADAME Th£r£sINE. 


23 


This habitation was situated upon the banks of the 
Valcar£s, a stream which might be called an inland 
sea, for it covered more than six thousand four 
hundred and eighty acres. The dwelling, separated 
from the rustic chapel of Notre Dame d’Amour by 
the sanitary canal known as the Petite Montlongue, 
formed with its vast orchard of many varieties of 
fruit-trees and its little forest of pines, a sort of oasis 
or verdant island. Th?s island is situated almost at 
the central point of the triangle of seventy-three 
thousand acres known as the Island of Camargue and 
marks the division of the two branches of the Rhone 
which from Arles flow into the sea. 

Upon the ground-floor, excepting the side which 
gave upon the river, where nothing else reached the 
eye, the view was bounded by the green hedge of 
furze enclosing the garden; from the first floor the 
panorama was more extensive; from the second and 
last it was limitless. On one side, the eye, passing 
unobstructed over the bluish surface of the lake, 
perceived on the horizon the shining thread of the 
Mediterranean, that lay like a band of silver. On 
the other, passing over the narrow line of meadows 
or harvest-fields which bordered the canal, the view 
lost itself in the immense flat grayish plain dotted 
with reedy ponds, or with the white peaks of the 
tents of the guardians, or with dark and moving 
spots, which are the bulls wandering in herds over 
the half-dried marshes. 


24 


MADAME THERESINE. 


Each season this landscape, which at first sight 
seems dull and inanimate, changes not only its 
features but its color. In the spring and autumn the 
waters of the canal, swollen by heavy rains, fill the 
inland pools and increase them into great sheets of 
water, upon which the north wind sets in motion, 
like green meadows, the various kinds of reeds and 
rushes which are so precious to the inhabitants. For 
they use them not only as food for their cattle, but 
carefully gather them to form a thatch for their huts 
and a wicker-work for chairs. They also manufacture 
from them rude but impermeable mats, under which 
the salt-makers shelter their store of salt. 

Everything is green then in the plain, and the 
woolly beasts come down by hundreds into the low 
grounds, till the heat drives them back to the moun¬ 
tains, to browse in the fallow lands upon the margal, 
or ray-grass, which is the best grazing for lambs. 

This is eminently the season for shooting in the 
marshes. Coots, curlews, and woodcock swarm in 
the rose-banks, where, walking about on their long 
legs, are flocks of red flamingoes, which are always 
hard to approach, because their sentinels keep such 
good watch. It is beautiful, however, to see them 
rise into the blue heavens, displaying their great 
flaming wings and describing immense circles. 

Then, too, Camargue is bedecked with all her 
bravery of flowers and foliage; long grasses spring 
from the sodden earth, and plants peculiar to salt 


MADAME THER^SINE. 


2 5 


meadows, thistles with yellow or blue flowers, salt-wort 
with its purple branches, camomile-flowers with their 
glaucous color, cinquefoil shining like gold, and 
asters bright as silver, all enamelling the humid plain 
traversed by troops of snow-white horses or herds of 
jet-black bulls. 

In summer the scene changes completely. Dried 
up under the fiery heat of the dog-star, which it is 
impossible to temper in this unsheltered plain, the 
marshes disappear, leaving no traces but pools of 
stagnant and brackish water exhaling a malarial mi¬ 
asma. The reeds turn yellow; the dry earth assumes 
a dull slate-color, upon which the salt, by the effect 
of a rapid evaporation, settles in great white spots, 
or forms that effervescence which is so fatal to all 
vegetation. Its snowy surface crackles under the 
feet and retains their imprint, or comes off leaving 
exposed a brilliant surface. 

For several weeks there is now a sort of factitious 
life in this dead region; it is harvest-time, and bands 
of gleaners and reapers come across the Rhone, 
scythe in hand, to cut down the rushes or, hastening 
into the cultivated fields, gather thence the abundant 
harvest. 

An endless train of wagons furrows the plain and 
is enshrouded in clouds of warm dust. Rushes and 
meadow-grass fall under the keen blade and are 
formed into sheaves and heaped upon the carts. But 
time presses, the heat grows suffocating, a malarial 


26 


MADAME THER^SINE. 


vapor enshrouds the whole peninsula infested by 
swarms of mosquitoes, whose sting leaves neither 
man nor beast a moment’s rest. 

In this fiery atmosphere during the day, and in 
the poisonous vapors during the night, the work goes 
on, with neither rest nor intermission until the harvest 
is done; then the drivers crack their whips, and the 
eager multitude depart with their booty, like a miser 
carrying off a treasure. 

Left to its isolated and pallid population, stripped 
of its rushes and its harvests, Camargue assumes a 
strange aspect which is not without a certain gran¬ 
deur. But it is no longer France, it is an almost 
fantastic region, a bare level plain, gray and dusty, 
encircled by the two arms of the Rhone, which em¬ 
brace without fertilizing it. It seems like a bit of 
Africa grown colder, bereft of its palm-trees, and 
where the maestral, or northwest wind of the Medi¬ 
terranean, replaces the sirocco. But it has retained 
its Saharran aspect, its broad melancholy horizon, 
its stunted shrubbery, its monotonous silence, its 
rare oases, in the shade of which are solitary edifices, 
a species of Arab blockhouse, low and whitewashed; 
its mirages, which are almost as frequent as in the 
desert, and which'raise from the midst of this deso¬ 
lation magical landscapes, as vague as a dream, as 
fleeting as an illusion of the senses. 

All this is strange, but of a drowsy, dreamy 
strangeness which does not excite the imagination. 


MADAME THERES1NE. 


27 


The eye wanders over the level plain, finding no 
object upon which to rest. The feet of the horses, 
which are usually of Saracen origin, noiselessly raise 
a cloud of almost imperceptible dust. Sometimes 
in the distance a gray smoke arises from the gray 
earth, marking the passage of a flock of sheep. 
These sheep, from their color, cannot be distin¬ 
guished from the plain upon which they vainly seek 
for nourishment. 

It is hard to conceive such utter sterility; yet 
there is water at a very short distance down in this 
dry soil. The island is furrowed with a network of 
streams; sometimes a sunbeam brightens the surface 
of a pond in the vicinity of which there is not a 
single tree. For this water is brackish; instead of 
being favorable to vegetation it destroys it, and, in¬ 
stead of turf upon the banks, the water, in ebbing, 
leaves only a salty substance, the whiteness and 
brittleness of which betray its origin. Rain has the 
same effect; in Camargue it only makes salt spring 
up from the earth. 

So that, in truth, water and salt share the empire 
of this sterile region, and make it, each in turn, wear 
their livery. To live in such a country certain spe¬ 
cial qualities are evidently necessary, for these two 
traits, apparently contradictory, form the basis of 
the native character: an indefatigable patience to 
triumph over the difficulties of the soil, and an in¬ 
domitable courage to control the cattle, which are 


28 


MADAME TH^RESINE. 


in an almost savage state. It would seem that the 
difficulty of living in so unproductive a region would 
soon depopulate it, but the contrary is the case. 

Man is born for struggle; it makes him hardy, 
becomes second nature to him, and forms a bond 
which unites him more strongly than any other to 
the earth which he waters with the sweat of his 
brow. 

Nothing in the world could tempt Theresine to 
leave the banks of the Valcares without prospect of 
a speedy return. There was she born; there had 
she grown to womanhood; and for her the desolate 
wildness of these marshes had a greater charm than 
the richest and most fertile territory upon the Rhone. 

Two or three times a year she was reluctantly in¬ 
duced to visit Arles, the Paris of la Crau and of Ca- 
margue. The tumult of so many people, the anima¬ 
tion of the streets, the ringing of bells, the crowded 
thoroughfares, wearied her; she could not breathe, 
there was not air enough for her, in this brilliant 
flower of the desert. Her eyes needed the wide- 
stretching horizons of her country; her lungs re¬ 
quired its broad acres perfumed by the sea. Dis¬ 
daining the admiring glances which her beauty 
attracted, she leaped, light as a bird, to the crup¬ 
per of a Camargue pony, behind her father, joyful 
because she was returning to her free solitude. 

Vivacious and laughing, as are all Provengales, 
she, like many of the women of Arles, was of that 


MADAME THERESINE. 


2 9 


Greek type which even at the present time remains 
pure and intact in that ancient colony. Tall, lithe, 
graceful in every movement, she had won, not so 
much on account of the regularity of her features, 
or from that dazzling whiteness of complexion which 
resists in so astonishing a manner the heat of the 
sun, as from the singular sweetness of her expression 
and its remarkable kindliness, the surname of “ the 
Flower of Camargue, ” given her by the guardians. 

Besides, being equally skilful in handling the oar 
or riding the most fiery horse in Camargue, she was 
possessed of accomplishments which, on the banks 
of the Valcares, are not, as they might be in Eng¬ 
land, eccentricities, but the indispensable accom¬ 
paniments to the education of a woman in a country 
where there are no means of locomotion other than 
horses or boats. Her reckless daring excited the 
old Commander’s warmest admiration, and he often 
said to Bernard, the old huntsman: * 

“ Your daughter need only learn to handle a gun 
and she could enlist in the regiment of her foster- 
brother, M. le Chevalier.” 

“ I would rather she knew how to put a patch on 
my drugget coat, mend my shirt, and prepare my 
mess of aioli or bouilla-besse, ” laughed the old 
servant of the family to which Theresine was ad¬ 
mitted almost on an equality. 

Only two months older than Frederic, her mother 
had nursed them both, and Theresine had since 


3° 


MADAME THERESINE. 


shared almost equal advantages of education with 
Mile. Germaine de Marcoiran, in whose youthful 
games and walks she had always had her share. 
Yet any idea that she was Germaine’s equal had 
never yet occurred to the peasant-girl. At that 
period class distinctions were more clearly defined 
than in our own days, and the friendship of the two 
young girls for each other did not on Theresine’s part 
exclude a proper deference for the daughter of her 
feudal lord. 

At the present day, when everything is measured 
by the standard of money, all this is changed; on the 
one hand insolence, on the other envy carried to 
the verge of hatred: this is what has taken the 
place of the old affability and respect. 

Between Germaine and Theresine existed, then, 
an intimacy, condescending on the one hand, re¬ 
spectful on the other. So that the two young girls 
were really friends rather than servant and mistress. 

In point of fact, the one who should have borne 
this latter title relegated all her authority to There- 
sine. Except the family correspondence, which 
Madame de Marcoiran always attended to herself 
unless Germaine undertook the office of secretary, 
Theresine fulfilled all the duties of prime minister 
of the interior in the Chateau , or Mas Rouge; she 
wore at her belt the keys of office, superintended the 
kitchen, and ruled over the garden and the dairy. 

Left a widow even before Germaine’s birth, Ma- 


MADAME THERESINE. 


31 


dame de Marcoiran had gradually withdrawn from 
all share in the administration of her vast domain, 
entrusting the exterior to Bernard, and the interior 
to his wife, and after her death to Theresine. En¬ 
feebled in health and naturally inclined to melan¬ 
choly, the chatelaine of the Mas Rouge devoted 
herself entirely to the education of her daughter 
Germaine, who, being probably destined to pass her 
life amid scenes more brilliant than those in which 
her childhood had sped, was necessarily to be formed 
in the manners and accomplishments essential to a 
young woman of her rank and station. 

For the first twelve years the noble widow had, 
with the help of the Abbe Boucarut, curate of 
Notre Dame d’Amour and tutor to Frederic, given 
Germaine a sufficient knowledge of history, geog¬ 
raphy, orthography, and composition, at the same 
time that she instilled into her, more by example 
than by teachings, the principles of solid piety. 

But, as time passed, the good mother felt that 
the task she had undertaken was beyond her, and 
that, for her daughter’s good, she must consent to 
part with her, for a few years at least. Germaine 
was accordingly sent to Avignon, where an aunt of 
hers was abbess of the royal convent of St. Praxeda. 
Her departure from the Mas Rouge , in company 
with her mother and the Commander, was most 
affecting, and Germaine and Theresine, then sepa¬ 
rated for the first time, shed many tears. 


32 


MADAME THERESINE. 


In a day or two after, Germaine found herself be¬ 
hind the gratings, whence she was to come out no 
more till her education was completed. That is to 
say, till she had learned to curtsey, to dance or 
rather walk through the grave and stately minuet, 
to copy, with more or less skill, some models of 
flowers in crayon, to play long and monotonous 
sonatas on the spinet, to take part in the tragedies 
of Racine, and to sing the languid and insipid ro¬ 
mances then in vogue, accompanying herself on the 
harp. This last accomplishment seems to afford an 
opportunity for the display of finely shaped hands 
and long slender fingers, the undeniable tokens of 
long descent and noble blood. 

Germaine cared little for all these branches of 
knowledge, but she knew that her mother was re¬ 
solved that she should acquire them; so, after a few 
days of pardonable despondency, during which the 
poor captive felt sadly that she only saw the blue 
sky through bars, Germaine went to work with an 
ardor which, if it threatened to impair her health, 
at least enabled her to reach the goal before many 
of her companions, some of whom had to remain 
two or three years longer. 

At sixteen Germaine’s education was finished, and 
she left school and returned to the Mas Rouge , to 
the great joy of Ther£sine, who found her much 
paler and thinner, but as simple and good as ever. 

Frederic was no longer there. Through the in- 


MADAME THI^R^SINE. 


33 


fluence of his uncle the Commander, the young noble 
had got a commission in the Queen’s Dragoons, into 
which Monsieur de Themine had admitted him out 
of regard for his old friend. 

At his departure the young man also felt con¬ 
siderable regret in leaving the scene of his hunting 
exploits; but the thought of wearing a brilliant uni¬ 
form and taking part in all the festivities and pleasures 
of the court, and seeing Paris, of which he had heard 
such enthusiastic descriptions, consoled him in great 
measure for all that he left behind. He stopped at 
Avignon on his way, to present his respects to his 
aunt and to embrace his sister. 

It was then that the latter had presented him to 
Mile. Renee de Blesignan, her companion and friend, 
who, pale and sickly, did not leave any very great 
impression upon his mind. 

He had been absent four years, and returning now 
for a six-months leave, he had to renew his acquaint¬ 
ance with all the inhabitants of the Mas Rouge . 


34 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


CHAPTER II. 

FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 

I N his own room, which no one had inhabited since 
his departure, and where, thanks to the affection¬ 
ate care of his mother, sister, and Ther£sine, he 
found everything just as he had left it, arranged 
with the most scrupulous care, from his double- 
barrelled hunting-gun—his old companion in so many 
excursions—to the crucifix over his bed, above 
which was a blessed palm, renewed every year by 
some pious hand, Frederic enjoyed the delightful 
sense of being once more at home, where everything 
brought back some pleasant recollection. He had 
only been there a few minutes, when he heard a 
discreet tap at the door. 

“ Come in,” cried the young man, who was kneel¬ 
ing at his open trunk, from which he was taking out 
various articles of dress. 

A Provengal with complexion tanned by the south¬ 
ern sun, his legs protected by long leathern gaiters, 
his waist encircled by a red belt, and his head by a 
colored handkerchief tied under a felt hat much the 
worse for rain and sun, entered immediately, bring- 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


35 


ing soap and towels and one of those heavy green 
jars which are known in the country by the name 
of dourgue. 

“ Good-day, Monsieur Frederic and the company,” 
said the new-comer, using a form of speech which 
to most people would have appeared extraordinary, 
as the salutation was addressed to only one person. 
The Queen’s Dragoon, however, was not in the least 
surprised, knowing well that in Provence this mode 
of speech is still employed; it is a salute to you and 
to your guardian angel. “ I hope you had a good 
journey. ” 

“ Excellent, my dear Marius,” replied Frederic, 
who, without rising, gave his hand to the visitor. 
“ Well, and so you are married, my boy.” 

“ At your service, monsieur. Shall I fill your 
jug with water ? ” 

“ No, leave the jar here. I need half the Rhone 
to get rid of the dust that I collected between Arles 
and here.” 

“ It must have been dusty; but you, who know 
the country so well, should have remembered that in 
crossing the Grand-Mar you were sure to get all 
the dust.” 

“ There is not usually so much in the month of 
May.” 

“ True, but this year the heat came early, and 
the flocks began a fortnight since to go up into the 
mountains. 


36 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


“ Coming from Paris, of course I knew nothing 
of all this; but what surprised me even more was 
the number of locusts; in some places my mare 
raised a swarm of them at every step.” 

“ That is just what I told Elzias, the guardian, 
two or three days ago. I said that if the sun con¬ 
tinued as hot as it has been, we should see those 
vermin playing the devil with the harvests.” 

“ It would be a pity. The crops seem very fine.” 

“ Hum! more straw than grain so far, Monsieur 
le Chevalier; and if the Rau * does not blow up and 
bring us rain to water the ears, the sacks will not 
be very heavy this year. 

“Ah,” said Frederic, laughing, “this is not the 
Commandery, and our grain is not like that on the 
banks of the Rhone, where every inundation fertil¬ 
izes the earth; but such as it is, you will see that 
our harvest is larger than you think.” 

Marius made no other answer than a gesture ex¬ 
pressive of incredulity. 

“ Come, come, my boy, I see you regret having 
left the Commandery.” 

“ No doubt, Monsieur Frederic, I regret the Com¬ 
mander, to whom I owe everything, and who has 
always been so kind to me; but believe that I am 
very glad to be in your service, and if I have one 
desire in the world, it is that I may always remain 
here.” 


* West wind. 



FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


37 


“ Capital ! I can well believe it,” cried a rough 
voice at the half-open door, and on the threshold 
appeared old Bernard, who, hearing of his young 
master’s arrival, had forgotten his pains to come 
and salute him. 

“ Eh, good-day, my dear Bernard!” cried Fred¬ 
eric, joyfully, rising hastily and throwing himself 
into the old man’s arms. 

“ Always the same good, kind Monsieur Fred¬ 
eric,” said the old man, with tears in his eyes. “ I 
can well believe, Marius, that you would never want 
to leave this blessed house. Oh, how glad I am to 
see you again, my good, my dear monsieur ! May 
Heaven bless you and all your excellent family ! ” 

“ Come, my brave friend, no tears ! An old vet¬ 
eran like you, and a soldier of the king, should not 
be seen with wet eyes. Sit down, my poor cripple. 
So you really love me a little.” 

“ A little ! You may well say a little, and a good 
deal, and more again. You see, Marius, he is al¬ 
most my son, for he is the foster-child of my poor 
dead Theresine; old Bernard would let himself be 
chopped as fine as mince-meat for any of the 
family.” 

“ Come, sit down, my good fellow. Why will you 
torment me by standing in front of me with your 
rheumatic joints ? Here, take my arm-chair.” 

“ Never mind, Monsieur Frederic ; another chair 
will do just as well for my worn-out old carcass.” 


3« 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


“ On the contrary, the older it grows the more 
care it needs. So into the arm-chair, Father Ber¬ 
nard, or I will get angry with you.” 

“You must always have your own way; and it’s 
all one to me. You look well, Monsieur Frederic; 
your cheeks are as red as an apple.” 

“ Palsambleu ! I should think so.” 

“ Do you know, Monsieur le Chevalier, that you 
have grown to be a splendid man ? When you left 
us, three years ago come Saint Matthew, you were 
full two inches shorter and your mustache scarcely 
shaded your lip. Now one would think it was 
marked with coal.” 

“ Don’t speak of it. I have not been able to 
shave for four days, and this hair grows so quick 
that, seeing me in undress uniform and with that 
disagreeable ornament on my upper lip, any one 
would take me for a private.” 

“ Privates, whether of horse or foot, or officers of 
fortune either, have not your manners nor your 
figure,” said Bernard, with an air of conviction. 

“You see I am a man now, a grown man,” re¬ 
plied Frederic, smiling. “ I shall soon be twenty- 
one; have had three years’ service—in the town, the 
rank of field-marshal—in imagination; and this uni¬ 
form, green with red facings, what do you think of 
it ? Is it smart enough ? ” 

“ It fits you like a glove; the cut of it suits your 
figure exactly. What do you say, Marius ? ” 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


39 


“ I prefer that of the Commander in the portrait, 
with a red coat and powdered wig.” 

The old man shrugged his shoulders. 

“This is fifty times as handsome,” cried he. 
“ Marius, you only like red, which is good for noth¬ 
ing but to enrage bulls. Now this color takes me. 
I look at it with pleasure. See how that coat opens 
below to show the vest; see those facings; that 
breastplate has a manly look, while the King’s Guards 
in their red frocks seem as if they were dancing in a 
sack. I bet you a crown that Theresine will be of 
my opinion.” 

“ The other uniform is richer,” said Marius, coldly. 

“ This is only my undress,” said Frederic, much 
amused by this discussion; “ beside my full-dress 
uniform, this is like the moon to the sun. Now, of 
course, the Royal Guards no longer wear plumed 
hats, breeches adorned with ribbons, funnel-shaped 
shoes, lace cravats, and silken scarfs across the 
shoulder of an embroidered velvet coat. All that 
belonged to the time of Louis XIV. and the begin¬ 
ning of the reign of Louis XV. But, nevertheless, 
when the trumpets sound and our white standard is 
flung to the breeze, as we pass out of the principal 
court of the palace of Versailles, squadron by squad¬ 
ron, in full uniform and splendidly mounted, our 
helmets and swords shining like the sun, our snow- 
white breeches, our silver spurs glittering at the 
heels of our long shining boots, the crowd press 


40 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


round to see us, and often salute us with cries of 
‘ Long live the Queen’s Dragoons ! ’ ” 

“ I thought all the guards wore the same uniform,” 
said Marius. 

“ Not at all. There are the red gendarmerie, as 
you see from my uncle’s portrait; the hussars, each 
regiment of which wears a different uniform; the 
Swiss Guards, with powdered wigs, plumed hats, im¬ 
mense ruffles, parti-colored doublets, and puffed 
breeches; the foot-chasseurs, with their helmets of 
waxed leather surmounted by a black tassel, their 
green dress-coat, and waistcoat of chamois leather; 
the Grenadier Guards, who still wear the high bear¬ 
skin caps, a coat of French blue embroidered with 
gold, a belt, and long gaiters; the fusiliers, with 
cocked hats, blue coats with red facings, and white 
brandenburgs clasped a third of the way down; the 
blue artillerymen, and all the rest of the army, who 
still sport the breeches, white waistcoat, gaiters, and 
double shoulder-belts crossed upon the chest. What 
are you laughing at, Marius ? ” 

“ Oh, at nothing, Monsieur le Chevalier ; only, 
hearing you tell about the Swiss Guards, I could not 
help thinking of the masquers who dance round the 
Prince of Love in the masquerades at Arles.” 

“You had better listen and learn,” growled Ber¬ 
nard. 

“ Come, come,” cried Frederic, “do not be vexed; 
we must always laugh when we can. If the subject 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


41 


interests you, I will give you many other details 
when we are alone; but now, with your permission, 
I will proceed with my toilet.” 

“ And I will unsaddle your mare and put her in 
the stable, since I can be of no use here,” said 
Marius, departing at once. 

“Must I go too?” asked the old huntsman, 
watching his dear Frederic, as he took out a change 
of linen and some clothes from his trunk. 

“ Not at all, my good Bernard; stay and help me 
with your advice; at need you can act as valet.” 

“ Since I have the rheumatism, I am not good for 
anything but growling and complaining.” 

“ I see, for instance, that you do not spare your 
son-in-law. 

“ The fact is, we do not always agree.” 

“ Yet he seems a good fellow.” 

“Well, that is true enough; he is a good lad, 
and I am not bad; but our dogs do not hunt to¬ 
gether.” 

“ Has Ther^sine any cause to complain of him ?” 

“ No, thank God ! On the contrary, they get on 
very well, so far, and seem to understand each other 
perfectly.” 

“ Does he drink ? ” 

“ Only water.” 

“ Is he idle ?” 

“ No, very industrious.” 

“ Jealous ? ” 


42 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


“ I would not advise him to try/’ 

“ A gambler ? ” 

“ He has never touched either cards or dice in his 
life.” 

“ What fault can you find with him, then ? ” 

“ Absolutely none; and yet there is something.” 

“ What can it be ? ” 

“ I fear he is too fond of money and not fond 
enough of you.” 

“ Why do you think so ? ” 

“ I do not know.” 

The young officer burst out laughing in spite of 
himself. Still seated in the arm-chair, Bernard 
passed his hand through his gray hair with an anx¬ 
ious look upon his weather-beaten face. Frederic 
was afraid that he had involuntarily wounded him, 
and turned the conversation upon hunting. To his 
great surprise, the old huntsman, whom it was usu¬ 
ally so easy to interest in this subject, answered 
almost in monosyllables. After fruitless endeavors 
to get him into the vein, the young officer went 
over and, standing directly in front of him, laid his 
hand upon his shoulder, saying: 

‘‘ You have something on your mind, Father Ber¬ 
nard.” 

“ Well, yes, I have a suspicion here,” said he, re¬ 
garding his young master fixedly and striking his 
own breast; ” for some weeks past I am afraid that 
Marius is a hypocrite.” 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 43 

That is a bad thought, which it is better to 
shake off. 

“ I cannot. ” 

‘‘But what reason have you to suspect him ?” 

Merely a stupid joke, a thoughtless word, that 
Josiau the bone-setter, who came to set Bernadette 
the salt-maker’s arm, let fall before me.” 

“ What was it ? ” 

“ They were speaking of a lad that came some 
years ago to gather salt from the marshes on the 
islands, and who, on his return to Nismes, was ar¬ 
rested for a theft committed at the fair of the Made¬ 
leine at Beaucaire, and hanged by order of the pre¬ 
sided.”* 

“ There are thieves everywhere.” 

“ Of course; but this one came to that from being 
a good workman and an honest lad. So Bernadette 
said: ‘The judges must have been mistaken; it is 
impossible that he could have committed such a wicked 
action.’ Nearly all those present, and myself among 
the number, were of the same opinion; but Josiau 
said: ‘ I would put my hand in the fire that the 
judges were right.’ Then Bernadette asked him 
why, and he replied: ‘ Sooner or later, believe me, 
all children whose parentage is unknown go bad, for 
the devil is with them from the moment of their 
birth.’ ” 


* A magistrate. 



44 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


4 * What nonsense!” said Frederic; “and besides, 
how does that concern Marius ? 

“ Then you do not know his history ? 99 

“ What is it ?” 

“ The story of his birth ? 99 

“ Ma foi! no.” 

“ Well, listen. It is twenty-seven years and a 
few days since your uncle the Commander was re¬ 
turning one evening on horseback from the Saintes- 
Maries. He was alone, but his loaded pistols were 
in the holster, to be used in case of need. It was 
in harvest-time and very warm, so that was why he 
had made up his mind to travel by night and avoid 
the flies. It was after sunset when he reached the 
marsh of la Sigoulette; the place was quite deserted, 
and the plain as bare as usual. The Commander 
rode along, reading, as is his wont, a book, which 
he always carries in his pocket, to pass the time. 
All at once his horse started and shied. Your uncle 
passed his book from his right hand to his left, took 
a pistol, and looked about him, supposing that one 
of the bulls had escaped from its keeper. He looked 
and looked, but saw nothing suspicious; then, re¬ 
turning the pistol to the holster, he put spurs to his 
horse. But the horse, instead of advancing, reared 
and snorted. There was certainly something. Any 
one else would have thought of magic or the pres¬ 
ence of some invisible being, but the Commander 
was not easily frightened. Seeing nothing before or 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


45 


around him, he looked down on the ground. Almost 
between the feet of his horse, lying in the dust, was 
a black bulk, surrounded by a pool of blood. He 
dismounted, threw the bridle over his arm, and, rais¬ 
ing a wretched drugget cloak, discovered the body 
of a woman, still alive and holding in her arms a 
poor little child of three or four months old, motion¬ 
less and covered with blood. What was he to do, 
alone in the desert ? The charitable gentleman did 
not hesitate a moment The Valcares was close by; 
he ran thither, filled his hat with the brackish water, 
bathed the dying woman’s face with it, and tried 
every means of bringing her to consciousness. He 
strove to raise her, but she, summoning all her 
strength to keep her hold upon the child, fell back 
into his arms, murmuring: ‘ I am dying. Save 
him ! I give him to you.’ She was indeed dying. 
A blow from a club or some other instrument had 
fractured her skull, and her body was one mass of 
bruises. 

“ Your uncle tried to question her, asking who she 
was and by whom she had been reduced to such a 
condition; but she only repeated, her voice growing 
feebler and more feeble, ‘ Save my child ! I give 
him to you.’ With these words she expired.” 

“ So that my uncle could find out nothing more ? ” 
asked Frederic. 

“ Absolutely nothing more,” replied Bernard. 

“ He should have brought the matter before a 


46 FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 

magistrate, and caused an inquest to be held, for the 
woman must have been known in the country.” 

“No, she was a stranger who had come on foot a 
few days before to pray at the tomb of the Marys. 
They could only conjecture that she was accomplish¬ 
ing a vow, because, though on foot, as I said before, 
she had given abundant alms. Besides, her hands 
were white and slender and her feet small, and this, 
together with her dress, showed her to be above the 
peasant class.” 

“ But why was she murdered, and who could have 
dealt her such a blow ? ” 

“ Some vagrant, no doubt, for the sake of her 
money, as not a farthing was found upon her. The 
mounted police, in scouring the country, arrested 
five or six vagabonds, one of whom had some pieces 
of gold upon him; he could not explain satisfactorily 
how they had come into his possession, so he was 
subjected to the torture. He did not confess, and 
at last was able to prove that he had been seen at 
Trinquetaille that very same day. He had probably 
gone thither to pick pockets during the fair just then 
going on; so the judges marked him with a fleur-de- 
lis and sent him to row the king’s galleys.” 

“It is a strange story,” said Frederic. “ I heard 
it in a vague way, but thought it was one of those 
fireside tales which are told in the winter evenings; 
the more so that neither my mother nor my uncle 
would reply to any questions concerning it.” 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


47 


“ In truth,” said Bernard, “ the Commander would 
never speak of it, lest it might injure Marius.” 

“ Yet it was never known to be his story,” said 
Frederic, “ for I always heard that he was a native of 
Avignon.” 

The old huntsman shook his head. 

“-Six years after the events I have related,” said 
he, “ your uncle brought him from that place,, under 
pretence of training him to be a shepherd at the 
Commandery. There was a good deal of talk at 
first, for people do not often take six-year-old shep¬ 
herds, and show so much interest in them, and care 
for them as if they were their own children. Before 
being put to tend sheep, the child was taught to read 
and write; when he was asked about his parents, he 
always replied that he only knew an aunt, who had 
brought him up. This aunt was really his nurse. 
People had to content themselves with this reply, 
for, as the Commander had turned away a workman 
who ventured to call Marius a foundling, they knew 
that they must hold their tongues.” 

“ At fifteen Marius was made assistant herdsman, 
and three years after chief; but by that time none 
would have ventured to question him, for, besides 
being the master’s favorite, he was a robust lad with 
whom few would care to quarrel; he was a fearless 
rider, hardy in bearing fatigue, a first-class wrestler, 
and a splendid bull-tamer, with a pair of fists that 
made the most audacious respect him.” 


4 8 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


“ I think you are right and that he would not be 
a very safe person with whom to quarrel,” remarked 
Frederic, all the while continuing his toilet. 

“ Seeing that, they let him alone,” resumed Ber¬ 
nard; “they got accustomed to him. He had a 
pleasant word for every one, and was hail-fellow- 
well-met with them all; so they ceased to care who 
his parents were or whence he came. On his part, 
he never meddled with the affairs of others, but took 
care of his own, and, it must be admitted, to some 
purpose; from chief guardian he became overseer, 
and in that position was able to indulge his passion 
for hunting. Skilful in all out-door exercises, he 
soon became an excellent shot. I had seen little of 
him before that, but, as we were both overseers and 
both huntsmen, we were naturally thrown a good 
deal together, and, though I think he is not straight¬ 
forward in his disposition, we soon became inti¬ 
mate.” 

“ I remember well,” said Frederic, “ I made my 
first shots between you two in a duck-cover on the 
Valcares. That is a good while ago, and he was 
even then a famous huntsman.” 

“ Better for feathers than skins,” growled Bernard. 

“Yet I have seen him make some havoc among 
rabbits,” said Frederic. “ Come, my old comrade, 
I fear that just now professional jealousy prevents 
you doing him justice.” 

“ No, Monsieur Frederic, I am telling you the real 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


49 


truth; a duck on the wing he is sure to take, but he 
often misses hares or rabbits.” 

“ I do not say that he is as good a shot as you,” 
said Frederic, “ but that I would be very glad to be 
as good a shot as he.” 

“You are not a bad shot at all,” said the old 
huntsman, with a smile of gratified pride at his 
pupil’s adroit flattery; “ and when you come upon 
a brace of woodcock in the marsh of la Sigoulette, 
I would rather be in my clothes than in their 
feathers.” 

“ You are a vile flatterer, Bernard,” said Frederic; 
“ but go on with your story.” 

“ Henceforth, then, we often hunted together, but 
he rarely came into the house; he had his business 
to attend to, I had mine; and when he sometimes 
called for me, it was always very early in the morn¬ 
ing, so that he merely whistled or knocked at the 
door of the Mas, and waited outside. I came 
down and we set off. About that time, or a little 
later, Ma’amselle Germaine returned from school, to 
spend two months of vacation at the Mas Rouge. 
You may suppose my girl was delighted to see her. 
They were never apart; every day there was some 
new pleasure-party, a sail on the river, or a ride to 
les Saintes or to Arles. When they went to town, 
it was always with your mother; in the boat I rowed 
them; but on horseback they were under the special 
care of the Commander, because Madame was afraid 


5 ° 


FATHER IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


they might meet one of the wild bulls, that often 
escape when the guardians take them to pasture in 
the marshes. All went well till one day a messenger 
arrived from the Commander, bringing a note for 
Madame, who sent for me and said: 

“ ‘ My brother is ill; there is danger of inflamma¬ 
tion of the lungs. Get the carriage ready for me, 
and have the two ponies saddled besides. You will 
accompany us and bring back the horses.’ 

“‘Will Madame be coming back to-morrow ? ’ I 
asked, ‘ for, in that case, it would be scarcely worth 
while to bring the horses back to-night.’ 

“ ‘ God knows when we will come back,’ said Ma¬ 
dame; ‘ not for a week at least. In any case I will 
let you know. I shall take Theresine with me to 
keep my daughter company and wait upon her. 
Tell her to come up now and help us to pack.’ 

“ This was the first time that I was separated 
from Theresine; it cost me something to let her go, 
but of course, as long as I knew she could be useful, 
I took good care not to show any unwillingness. 

“ The trunks packed, we set out at the appointed 
time, and reached the Commandery in two hours. 
Your uncle was in bed with fever, and Marius at 
Arles, where he had gone for M. Rigal, the doctor. 
I bade Theresine, then a well-grown girl, to be very 
attentive to the ladies, promised to come and see 
her in two or three days, and, as I knew she was 
always good and sensible, went home without any 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


5 1 


uneasiness. I went back in three days. Libourel 
the barber had been brought to bleed the Com¬ 
mander, and the doctor could not pronounce him 
out of danger till the ninth day. Thanks be to God, 
much more than to the doctor, your uncle was out 
of danger before then, but he was a long time com¬ 
ing round, and the ladies were a long time away. I 
had a great deal of work in the daytime at the Mas 
Rouge, and was so busy that I had little time to 
think; but at night I was very lonely. Whenever I 
could take half a day to myself, I mounted a mare, 
and I assure you I did not give the flies much time 
to torment her. In an hour and a half or an hour 
and three quarters I was at the Mas Vieux . Some¬ 
times, when I arrived, hoping to find Theresine, I 
was told: 

“ 4 She is gone out with Mile. Germaine/ 

“ ‘ Where to ? ’ 

“ 4 To the Rhone/ 

“ ‘ Peste! it is not easy to guide a boat on that 
rapid river. Who handles the oars ? ’ 

“ ‘ Marius. You need not fear; there is no boat¬ 
man like him/ 

“ i Very well/ I would say. 

“ Or it would be: 

“ ‘ Theresine is gone with Mile. Germaine to visit 
the ruins of the monastery of Ulmet/ 

“ ‘ That is very far, and the bulls go to pasture 
there. Who is with them ? ’ 


52 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


“ ‘ Marius. Do not be afraid; he is the best guar¬ 
dian in Camargue.’ 

“ Or else: 

“ ‘ They are gone to the salt-works of Galepion, to 
see the salt taken up.’ 

“ ‘ The marsh is not very safe on that side, and 
they might easily go astray. Who is their 
guide ? ’ 

“ ‘ Marius, and he knows the marshes. There is 
not a salt-worker who could teach him anything about 
them. ’ 

“ I began to get tired of hearing the perfections 
of Marius. It seemed to me an age till the Com¬ 
mander got well. The doctor was not of my opin¬ 
ion; but your uncle’s constitution was victorious 
over the doctor’s medicines and the barber’s bleed¬ 
ing. So, at last, he came back to health, and my 
daughter to the Mas Rouge. Some months passed. 
Mile. Germaine had returned to the convent, There- 
sine was busy with her work, and our life had fallen 
into the old way. Marius came more seldom even 
than before. One day, however, the Commander 
passed through the garden with his sister. I was 
pruning a nettle-tree, and the Commander stopped, 
and said to me, all of a sudden: 

“ 1 Bernard, how old is your daughter ? ’ 

“ I laughed, because I knew very well she was 
your foster-sister, and I said: 

“ ‘ Three months older than M. Frederic.’ 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


53 


“ ‘ It is a good age for her to marry,’ said he; 
‘ have you thought of it ? ’ 

“ All the while he was looking at me with a droll 
expression and Madame was plucking the petals out 
of a daisy. 

Not yet, sir,’ I answered, ‘and I don’t think 
that Theresine herself has thought of it either.’ 

Well, I have thought of it for both of you,’ he 
said, ‘ and I have found her a jewel of a husband, 
who will make her very happy.’ 

“ I could easily guess; I expected every moment 
to hear: 

“ ‘ It is Marius; and in all the world she could not 
find a better.’ ” 

Spite of the emotion with which the old huntsman 
spoke, Frederic could not help laughing. 

“ It is easy to see you are not a father,” said Ber¬ 
nard, simply. 

“ I beg your pardon, old comrade. I did not 
mean to offend you,” said Frederic. 

Bernard resumed: 

“ I looked at the Commander frightened-like, and 
he must have seen it in my eyes, for he said: 

“ ‘ Come, answer me. I am not going to take 
your daughter from you. I only want to know if 
you will consent to give her to a worthy fellow for 
whom I can answer, and who will, I guarantee, make 
hei happy.’ 

“ 4 I am ready to do anything that will make her 


54 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


happy, sir,’ I said; ‘ but I am not the one who is 
asked in marriage, so I cannot decide.’ 

“ He seemed surprised, and said: 

“ ‘ What, it is not the father who decides ? ’ 

“ ‘ I think,’ said I, ‘ with your permission, it is 
rather she whom it most concerns.’ 

“ He burst out laughing, and, turning to Madame, 
said: 

“ ‘ Sister, did you choose your own husband ? ’ 

“ ‘ I was married at thirteen,’ she answered, * to 
M. de Marcoiran, who was then fifteen, and whom I 
had never seen. My father and mother sent word 
a week before to the convent that I was to come 
home for the ceremony. On that occasion we were 
allowed to dine at the table with our parents; after 
it was over, a maid brought me back to the Visita¬ 
tion nuns, and a lackey escorted my husband to col¬ 
lege. We did not see each other again for five 

y y y 

years. 

“ That is the way marriages are usually arranged,” 
said Frederic, not at all surprised, “ the same with 
other things. When my mother and uncle decided 
I was to go into the army, they sent me off to my 
regiment, instead of to college.” 

“ In your rank of society such things are done, 
but in ours, Monsieur Frederic, we let the children 
choose.” 

“ Ma foi! I confess that I never thought of such a 
thing,” said Frederic. “ If my people want me to 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


55 


marry, let them find me a wife. They will save me 
the trouble of looking for one, and I would just as 
soon they chose for me.” 

“ It was a great sacrifice for me to let Th6resine 
marry at all, and I wanted her at least to choose a 
husband that would suit her. When he saw that 
my mind was made up, the Commander said: 

” ‘ Since you have that idea, consult her.’ 

“ ‘ I must know his name. ’ 

“ ‘ Of course you must. Well, it is Marius, my 
huntsman, the overseer of the estate of the Mas Vieux. 
You know him; he is a good, industrious fellow, and 
of irreproachable character. I brought him up my¬ 
self ; and as he has no relations, he will attach himself 
much more easily to you than any other you could 
find. ’ 

” I thanked the Commander, and promised to 
speak to Theresine. 

“ I hesitated for three whole days; whenever I 
opened my mouth to speak, something seemed to 
keep me back. I said to myself, ‘ It is because his 
parentage is unknown; ’ but I knew very well that I 
was jealous of my child’s affection. However, I had 
to give an answer. So one evening at dinner my 
girl noticed that I ate less and drank more than 
usual. She remarked it to me in her own sweet 
way. 

“ ‘ I need something to give me courage,’ said I. 

“ Theresine looked at me with her eyes wide open, 


56 


FATHER-TN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


and asked why. I took another glass of wine, and 
said to her: 

“ ‘ You are nearly twenty.’ 

“ ‘ I am three days past twenty,’ she said, smiling. 

“ I continued: 

“ ‘ It is time to think of marrying.’ 

“ She still looked at me, and I did not know what 
to say next. 

“ ‘ Yes, it is time to marry. What have you to 
say ? ’ 

“ ‘ Nothing at all, father. I am listening to you.’ 

“ ‘ Answer me, then.’ 

“ ‘ What do you want me to answer ? You did 
not ask me anything.’ 

“ ‘ I said it was time to marry.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, it is time to marry,’ she repeated like an 
echo. 

“ ‘ Is there any one you would like to marry ? ’ I 
said, furious at my own stupidity. 

“ 1 No one,’ she said. ‘ What made you think 
of it ? ’ 

“ ‘ What ? What ? ’ I repeated, ‘ because it is 
time.’ 

“ ‘ Some one has asked me in marriage,’ she said, 
after a pause. 

“ ‘ Yes: Marius, of the Mas Vieux. Do you want 
to marry him ? ’ 

“ ‘ I have no wish of my own, father. I will do 
as you like, for it is my duty to obey you..’ 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


57 


“ ‘ Obey me ! But I have not commanded you to 
do anything. Do as you think best. Reflect on it. 
I give you an hour.’ 

“ 1 An hour is very little,’ she said. ‘ Yet, if you 
leave me entirely free, I will not need even so much.’ 

“ ‘ I leave you free.’ 

“ ‘ Then I will not marry Marius.’ 

“ ‘ And why ? ’ 

“ ‘ Because I do not want to leave you and my 
good masters, and because I want to stay at the Mas 
Rouge.' ” 

“You must have been pleased with this answer,’’ 
said Frederic. 

“You think so, yet it was just the contrary,’’ said 
Bernard. “ Having said that it was time for her to 
marry, and that if she did not take Marius she would 
never find as good a husband, I persuaded myself 
that she ought to accept him. Her answer vexed me. 

“ ‘ Have you anything against him ? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Nothing at all,’ she said. 

“ ‘ Then there is some one you like better ? ’ 

“ ‘ No; if I were to choose, I should prefer 
him. ’ 

“ ‘ Perhaps you would rather live in Arles, or even 
Marseilles ? ’ 

“ ‘ I hate the town and love the country.’ 

“ i You do not think him rich enough ? ’ 

“ ‘ On the contrary, I am not in a position to 
expect as much.’ 


58 FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 

“ ‘ Packere ! ’ I cried. ‘ Then you have made up 
your mind never to marry ? ’ 

“ ‘ I do not say that.’ 

“ I could have beaten her, I was so angry. 

“ ‘ Well, what do you say, then, daughter of the 
good God ? ’ 

“ ‘ That I would like best of all to stay in the 
house with you and Mile. Germaine.’ 

“ ‘ You have decided, then ? ’ 

“ ‘ I have decided.’ 

“ ‘ You positively refuse him ? ’ 

“ ‘ Unless you command me to do otherwise, I 
positively refuse him.’ 

“ ‘ Then good-night. I am off shooting.’ 

“ I took my gun, whistled for my dog, and went 
off. I came in about one o’clock in the morning. 
I had missed three rabbits, but did not much care. 
I threw myself on my bed, but never closed an eye. 
Next day the Commander sent for me into the salon, 
where he was alone with your mother. I could not 
have been more upset if I had been brought into 
court. Your uncle questioned me. I told him all 
that had passed. When I had finished, he shrugged 
his shoulders and said: 

“ ‘ I knew you were stupid, but not quite as stupid 
as that.’ 

“ I recovered a little then, for I had expected 
much worse. Your mother laughed, and stole a 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


59 


glance at me now and again over her work. The 
Commander turned to her and said: 

“‘What do you think, sister? I suppose with 
this fool it is better to leave matters as they are.’ 

“ Madame stopped, rubbed her forehead with her 
knitting-needle, and said: 

“ ‘ I think we may find a way of arranging matters.’ 

“ ‘ How do you mean ? ’ 

“ 4 Theresine refused to leave the Mas Rouge , but 
she did not refuse to marry Marius. Let him come 
here, and the objection is removed.’ 

“The Commander made a wry face. He did not 
like to part with his overseer. 

“ He rose, and walked about, gnawing the end of 
his cane. 

“ I stood there twirling my hat between my hands. 

“ ‘ Nothing can succeed with such a fool as this,’ 
said the Commander, crossing his arms and looking 
at me. ‘ It is useless to try.’ 

“ ‘ Will you let me negotiate the affair ? ’ said Ma¬ 
dame, in her soft voice. 

“ 4 I suppose it would be better,’ said he, resum¬ 
ing his walk, and, as he passed me, saying: ‘ I have 
no further need of you.’ 

“As I went out I met Theresine, counting the 
house-linen, which she always sent to the laundry. 

“ ‘ Good-day, father,’ said she, going on with her 
counting. 


6o 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


“ At breakfast she spoke of indifferent things. I 
felt like crying out: ‘ It is time for you to marry.’ 
Her calmness angered me. 

** Two days went by. One morning I was just 
lacing my gaiters to go to the rush-beds of Agon, 
for a landowner from la Crau wanted to buy some 
slips, when in came Th6resine, as fresh and smiling 
as ever. 

“ 1 Father,’ said she, ‘ Madame wants you; come 
at once.’ 

“ I followed her, one gaiter on my leg, the other 
in my hand, for I suspected something, and was not 
as tranquil over it as your foster-sister. 

“ ‘ My brother,’ said Madame, ‘ has consented to 
let Marius come here to live with us; your rheuma¬ 
tism prevents you from working as you used; Marius 
can help you, and as he has a good disposition you 
will get on well together. I have spoken to the 
little one. It is a good match for her; you would 
be wrong to let it escape. Theresine understands 
all this, since I explained it all to her. She likes 
Marius as well as, or better than, any one else, and 
only waits for your consent to pledge herself to 
him. ’ 

“ Something like a cold hand clutched my heart. 
I felt that I turned pale. But my daughter seemed 
pleased, and I knew what a wise and prudent woman 
your mother is, so I said: 

“ ‘ I consent.’ 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


61 


“ I never knew before how hard it could be to 
bring two words out of my throat. 

“ So that is the story of Marius, and of his mar¬ 
riage with my daughter. The marriage was, how¬ 
ever, delayed eight months, because your uncle 
wanted to keep his overseer for the fall work. Be¬ 
sides, I was in no hurry ; though whenever my 
daughter saw me looking down a bit, she always 
said: ‘ There will be two of us to love and care for 
you.’ It was often on the tip of my tongue to an¬ 
swer: * You alone were all I wanted.’ At last the 
time came, and we have been together ever since; 
but I must admit that they are both so kind to their 
old father that I have nothing but praise for them. 
I was even growing to be really fond of Marius, and 
to feel towards him as if he were my own son, when 
Josiau let drop those unfortunate words, and they 
have been ringing in my ears ever since. Tell me, 
Monsieur Frederic, you who have been in Paris, 
where there are so many wise people, did you ever 
hear it said that, sooner or later, foundlings go to 
the bad ? ” 

“ No, my dear Bernard, it is a stupid lie, in which 
there is not a word of truth, and you can tell this 
babbling bone-setter so from me,” said Frederic, 
who was now nearly dressed. “ Your son-in-law is 
a good, honest fellow, and you are very wrong to 
suspect him. But hush, there is some one coming.” 

It was Ther£sine, who in her clear fresh voice, 


6 2 


FATHER-IN-LAW AND SON-IN-LAW. 


as joyous as the song of the lark, called through the 
door: 

“ Come down, Monsieur Frederic, your breakfast 
will be cold.” 

“ I am just coming,” he answered. 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


6 3 


CHAPTER III. 

THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 

W HILST the whole household at the Chdteau 
Rouge , from Bernard and Marius, Theresine, 
the housekeeper, and the old cook, Zounet, down 
to the shepherds and herdsmen, whose occupations 
kept them at the farm, were crowding round to 
greet their young master on his return, a heavy 
travelling-carriage, which had set out from Arles about 
the same time that he had, was driving along the 
road beside the Rhone, and raising on its passage a 
thick cloud of dust, which could be seen from afar, 
whitening the trees. 

Although certain of having their dresses powdered 
gray with dust, the three ladies who occupied 
the vehicle had, on account of the heat, let down 
the window on the river side. They kept up a 
lively conversation, from time to time addressing an 
elderly gentleman who rode beside the carriage. He 
seemed specially interested in pointing out each vil¬ 
lage, or rather each habitation, to a fair young girl, 
whose large blue eyes looked with the greatest curi¬ 
osity at the strange country, which she was evidently 


6 4 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


visiting for the first time. Just opposite her, for she 
had the place of honor beside Madame de Marcoiran, 
who had never left off her mourning since her hus¬ 
band’s death, sat Germaine in a simple white dress, 
confined at the waist by a flame-colored ribbon, simi¬ 
lar to that which tied back the thick braids of her 
blue-black hair. Beside her, facing Madame, was a 
country gentleman of distinguished appearance, de¬ 
spite the simplicity of his attire, whose face denoted 
great energy of character. 

If Camargue in the interior presented the appear¬ 
ance of a bare and desolate desert, half sandy, half 
marshy, it must be admitted that following the wind¬ 
ings of the river there was no trace of this sterility. 

The banks were, indeed, fertilized by the stream 
and the alluvial nature of the soil. Oaks, elms, 
plantains, and sycamores, amongst which wild vines 
hung their verdant garlands, swaying in the breeze, 
resembled, with • their intertwining branches, the 
thickness of their foliage, the majestic height of their 
enormous trunks, a virgin forest, giving glimpses in 
rare openings of the blue waters wherein their roots 
grew, and which had a thick border of stiff, shining 
reeds. From amongst these reeds rose, with great 
flapping of wings and harsh, metallic cries, flocks 
of wild ducks, blue-headed teal, red flamingoes with 
their enormous wings, water-fowl with red beaks, 
gray crake folding their long yellow claws under their 
wings, or the beautiful kingfisher, who goes as quick as 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 65 

thought, so that scarcely a glimpse can be caught of his 
dazzling plumage, sparkling with emeralds and rubies. 

Through this ocean of verdure, the thickness of 
which is almost impervious to the sun’s rays, the 
horses went on noiselessly as in the alleys of a park, 
and, were it not for the double inconvenience of the 
mosquitoes, that dart out upon travellers as upon 
their proper prey, and the almost imperceptible but 
all-penetrating dust, nothing could be pleasanter than 
a drive through these charming regions. When, be¬ 
times, the forest road, where it grew narrower, left 
an opening, the eye could perceive, through the high 
colonnade of trees upon which rests the emerald 
dome, afar off, on the meadow side, immense 
fields of grain, green in the spring, but yellow in the 
summer, when the sun ripens them and the south 
wind stirs their promise-laden wares of gold. 

“ Do you know, it was a terrible thing to deceive 
me as you did,” said the blond young girl, who 
was no other than Mile, de Blesignan, addressing 
Germaine. “ If the Commander had not, so to say, 
forced my father into bringing me here, I should 
have gone on thinking Camargue a land of desola¬ 
tion, instead of being, as it is, a real Eden.” 

“ You are making its acquaintance at the most 
favorable time, my dear Renee,” said Germaine, 
“ and I advise you not to judge the cloak by its 
rich border until you have had time to examine its 
texture more closely.” 


66 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


“It is impossible that Providence should have 
given so rich a golden fringe to an inferior stuff.” 

“Yet such is the case, fair lady,” said the Com¬ 
mander, gallantly, “and the border of Camargue 
reminds me of the ingenious allegory of one of our 
poets, who represents the lame Vulcan trying on, 
on his own black person, the girdle of his wife, the 
goddess of beauty, which was so dazzlingly white 
that it was said to be of sea-foam.” 

As may be seen, the Commander prided himself 
on his choice language and knowledge of literature. 
Well pleased with his allusion, he drew himself up 
in his saddle, reined in his horse, and, resuming the 
third position, according to the manner of the par- 
fait cavalier franqais ,* took a large pinch of Spanish 
snuff from his box, lightly shaking off with his little 
finger a few grains that fell upon his spotless linen 
neckerchief. 

Madame de Marcoiran conversed the while with 
the Marquis de B16signan, fanning herself gently all 
the time. The noble seigneur of N.yons, though an 
intimate friend of the Commander, did not, like him, 
plume himself upon his gallantry, so that their con¬ 
versation, though more simple in form, was much 
more interesting, for it turned upon the politics of 
the day. It was naturally of a serious and even 
despondent tone. Certainly, so far there was 


* Perfect French rider, 



THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


67 


nothing to foreshadow the fearful excesses of ’ 93 , 
but the political horizon was singularly overcast, 
and gave little hope for the future. An ardent 
royalist, the Marquis was in favor of extreme 
measures. 

“ The King is too good,” he repeated, emphasiz¬ 
ing his words by tapping on the ivory knob of his 
stick; “ yes, far too good. With all these agents 
of reform there is but one means to take.” 

“ What is that ? ” inquired Madame. 

“ The whip of Louis XIV., Madame. I repeat, 
the whip.” 

“ That might have succeeded in his time,” said 
Madame, “ but we have made so much progress since 
then.” 

” Progress in insolence, insubordination, revolt, 
corruption,” said M. de Blesignan. “ That’s what 
it is to give free rein to these so-called philosophers, 
these shameless pamphleteers, who mock at every 
sentiment of honor, patriotism, religion, decency, 
and who, with their licentious writings, have brought 
the country to the verge of infamy. Of course 
these encyclopaedists are masters of the French lan¬ 
guage and may have a great deal of learning, but 
they have done incalculable harm with their absurd 
and irreligious philosophy.” 

“ Their novels have done even more harm,” 
sighed Madame de Marcoiran; adding immediately, 
“ When I say novels, I mean such as VEmile or the 


68 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


Nouvelle Htlo'ise, the only two, indeed, which I was 
ever tempted to read. As for those of Crebillon and 
the rest, you must understand that I scarcely know 
them by name.” 

“ A noble and virtuous lady like Madame de Mar- 
coiran,” said the Marquis, “ cannot be open to such 
a suspicion. So white a hand never grovelled in the 
mire.” 

“ The worst of it is,” said the lady, “ that the 
books of which I speak are so well written that, 
though an upright mind must condemn the opinions 
of the author, it is nevertheless carried away by the 
charm of his style, and by that warmth which un¬ 
consciously influences—for instance, in reading Rous¬ 
seau’s confession of the Vicaire Savoyard. Do you 
not agree with me ? ” 

“ Most certainly, Madame,” replied M. de Bl£- 
signan, somewhat hastily, for he was anxious to escape 
further questioning on a subject on which he was 
none too well posted, considering that the only writer 
he knew was the author of the Maison Rustique. 
“This Rousseau,” he continued, “corrupt and vi¬ 
cious as we know him to have been, had at least the 
excuse of being mad, as mad as many who are in 
the lunatic asylums.” 

“ He has not the wit of Voltaire,” said Madame, 
“ but far more generosity of feeling.” 

“He might easily have that,” cried the fiery Mar¬ 
quis, upon whom the name of Voltaire produced 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


6 9 


much the same effect that a red rag does upon a 
bull. “ This M. de Voltaire, though a scion of no¬ 
bility, a gentleman of His Majesty the King of 
France, has a soul of mud. Base wretch that he is, 
he, a man of rank, allowed himself to be beaten by 
the lackeys of the King of Prussia; he, a Frenchman, 
professed himself an admirer of his ‘ great Frederick,’ 
the mortal enemy of France, and applauded his fatal 
victory at Rosbach; he, a Christian, played the de¬ 
votee at Fernay, and appeared in Paris as the insulter 
of God; he, a gentleman, dragged through the mire 
the name of a woman specially raised up by Provi¬ 
dence to save our country, and who died a martyr 
to her heroism. He is the most abominable rascal 
that ever lived, and I blush to think that the Pari¬ 
sians should have placed a crown of gold upon the 
venomous and contemptible creature’s head, when 
they should have put a rope around his neck and 
dragged .him to the pillory for high treason against 
honor, against the nation, and against all majesty, 
both human and divine.” 

“ Father, father, do not get excited,” said Renee 
in a low voice, at the same time turning supplicating 
eyes upon the Marquis. 

“ Do not get excited!” said he, rapping so vio¬ 
lently with his cane upon the floor of the carriage 
that Madame hastily withdrew her feet from their 
perilous position. “Then let me hear no more of 
this manikin, this scoundrel, this rascal, who, by his 


70 


THE RETURN EROM ARLES. 


life and writings, is a disgrace to the nobility and a 
corrupter of the people.” 

Seeing that by her interference she had only 
thrown oil on the fire, Renee looked at Germaine, 
as if asking her help. 

It was, however, the Commander who came to her 
rescue. He bent down to the open window, and 
cried out in a half-joking, half-ceremonious tone: 

“ By Heaven ! I never thought that my old car¬ 
riage would be transformed into Olympus.” 

No one understanding the allusion, every one was 
silent and looked at him in surprise. 

“ I was perfectly aware,” he said, addressing 
Ren£e, “ that I was escorting the golden-haired 
Venus, but I did not know that I was also to assist, 
like the gods of Homer, at a conversation between 
the irascible Mars and the wise Minerva.” 

“ So that I am the only mortal in the company,” 
said Germaine, gayly. 

“ You are too modest, fair niece, for I am of opin¬ 
ion that you worthily represent, on this occasion, 
the nymph Egeria.” 

This said, the gallant horseman again drew himself 
up, and again rewarded his own amiability by per¬ 
mitting himself a pinch of that refreshing substance, 
the color of which he had adopted in his garments, 
namely, snuff. This species of wit, which now 
seems to us at once pedantic and antiquated, was 
at that time much in vogue; and the ex-officer of 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 71 

the king’s household had won thereby the reputation 
of being among the most agreeable men who fre¬ 
quented the then very aristocratic salons of the 
town of Arles. 

Renee rewarded him with a gracious smile, less 
perhaps of admiration than of gratitude; but what¬ 
ever were the young lady’s feelings, she had attained 
the desired result, and her father, ashamed of his 
late impetuosity, profited by the opportunity to 
escape from the political and literary arena into 
which he had so imprudently allowed himself to be 
drawn. The conversation, interrupted by the Com¬ 
mander’s last sally, now remained in a state of ap¬ 
parent indecision as to what subject should be 
mooted next, when Germaine, putting her head out 
of the window, cried: 

“ Montlong ! I did not think we were there 
yet.” 

“ What is Montlong ? ” asked Renee. 

” The last mas , or, to express myself more cor¬ 
rectly, the last farm, from which we can see the 
Rhone,” answered the Commander, pointing with 
his whip to a small isolated house, the red roof of 
which was alone perceptible through the foliage. 

“ Yes,” added Germaine, leaning back in the car¬ 
riage, “ you see that deep ditch which, on separating 
from the river, becomes a round pool: that is what 
we call the little roubme of Montlong, which will 
lead us by the marsh of Grand-Mar to the Valcares, 


72 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


and to the Mas Rouge. Open your eyes wide, for 
in a few minutes we will be in Camargue proper.” 

“ The river road or trimmings were so beautiful,” 
said Renee, “ that I am eager to see the texture of 
the uniform.” 

“ The texture of the uniform is coarse,” said Ger¬ 
maine, “ and the color light gray; but it has at least 
the merit of not being like what we see everywhere 
else.” 

The carriage made a sudden turn; the trees no 
longer obscured the view; fields of grain still green, 
though now in the ear, and beyond them the plain, 
flat, bare, immense, stretched out before the eye. 
Germaine looked at Ren£e. 

“ One would think it was the sea,” replied Renee, 
in a low voice. 

“ How do you like the sea, then ? ” said Germaine. 

“ It is very sad, but very beautiful,” said Ren£e. 

“ Do you really think it beautiful ? ” 

“ Most beautiful,” said Renee. 

“ Camargue should have put on its festal garb to 
receive you, and changed its dust into verdure,” said 
the Commander, “ lest it frighten your beautiful eyes 
by the sad spectacle of its nudity.” 

“ Oh, no; I prefer the desert, which is really mag¬ 
nificent,” said Renee. “ Does it not seem as if a 
cloud of gold were floating over its immensity ? ” 

“ Alas ! it is not the golden cloud with which the 
divine Homer enshrouded his Olympus,” said the 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


73 


Commander, “ and you will presently discover that 
these atoms floating in the rays of the sun are but 
fine dust, infested with a legion of mosquitoes. Mos¬ 
quitoes and dust are, indeed, the two plagues 
against which it is almost impossible to protect our¬ 
selves.” 

“ Against dust there is soap,” said Renee. 

“ And against the mosquitoes vinegar,” said Ger¬ 
maine, “ which I, however, never use.” 

“ Since you are impervious to their stings,” said 
Ren£e, laughing, “ I may also be preserved if you 
mention that I am your kinswoman.” 

“ Oh, they will not believe me.” 

“ Really ?” 

“ You have blue eyes, mine are black; your hair 
is fair, mine is as dark as dark can be; and in short, 
my dear, we are not of the same stuff.” 

“ Now I should have said just the contrary,” said 
Renee. 

Mile, de Marcoiran took Rente’s white hand and 
compared it with her own brown one. 

“ Look,” she said, “ is the stuff alike ?” 

“ Mile, de B16signan is of satin,” remarked the 
Commander, courteously. 

“And I, of taffeta,” said the laughing and guile¬ 
less Germaine, with her usual sprightliness. 

“ The two stuffs are of equal value,” cried M. de 
Blesignan, in imitation of his friend. 

“ I thank you for my daughter, ' said Madame de 


74 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


Marcoiran, Casting a glance at Germaine which 
seemed to say, “ I am sure of it.” 

“ It may be so,” said Germaine, “ but neverthe¬ 
less the mosquitoes are sure to give you the prefer¬ 
ence, my dear Renee.” 

“ They have, then, a predilection for satin ? ” 

“ Not exactly; but they have the same taste as 
the ogres of the fairy-tales: they like new flesh. 
Having frequently partaken of me, who am their 
compatriot, they would like to change the bill of 
fare and try you.” 

The horses were meanwhile going at a good pace, 
with grain-fields on either side of them, and raising as 
they went myriads of locusts. One of these creatures, 
in his dizzy flight, grazed Renee’s face with his scaly 
body and dashed himself against the carriage-window. 

“ Oh, the horrid beast ! ” cried Renee, “ how he 
frightened me ! ” 

“The third plague of our dear Camargue,” said 
her cousin, who had caught the insect and given it to 
the Commander. 

“ That plague is a familiar one to me,” said Renee. 
“ We have locusts in the fields at Nyons and in the 
thatch of the houses. But if plague it be, it is at 
least a harmless one.” 

“ Certainly,” said the Marquis; “ if the mosquitoes 
are not more to be feared, we are not in great danger, 
lor I do not believe that a locust ever did harm to 
a-ny one. What do you say, M. de Forton ?” 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


75 


But the Commander had all at once grown silent 
and thoughtful. He was examining with the great¬ 
est attention the prisoner which his niece had caught. 
Hearing himself thus directly addressed, he roused 
himself, and said, with a gravity which the occasion 
scarcely seemed to demand: 

“ I am not of your opinion, my excellent friend. 
These little beasts, whom you think so innocent, do 
not find equal favor with me; they have too often 
made us, and still continue to make us, feel that of 
all our enemies they are the most to be feared.” 

The Marquis burst out laughing. He thought it 
was a joke, much enhanced by the jester’s solemn 
air. 

“You must be terrified,” he said, addressing Ma¬ 
dame. 

“ When they appear at this season, there is great 
reason to fear for the harvests,” replied Madame, 
gravely. 

“ It would be hard for an insect of that size to 
destroy a single blade of wheat,” said the Marquis. 

“ Yes, at its present size, I grant you,” said the 
Commander; “ but in eight or ten days from now 
the young locusts will be treble that size and the 
wheat will be still in the ground.” 

“You really think they can injure the grain?” 
said Rende. 

“Why, in an hour,” said Germaine, “they can 
destroy a whole field.” 


76 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


“ Too late, Mademoiselle,” cried Ren£e. “ When 
we were at Saint Praxeda, you used to describe 
Camargue to me in all sorts of colors, and I believed 
you; but now that I am grown up I am not quite 
so credulous.” 

“It is a gigantea ,” said M. de Forton, throwing 
the insect away; “ the most dangerous species. Our 
harvests will be ruined if God does not help us.” 

Then he rode on for some minutes in silence, till, 
approaching the driver, Rende heard him say: 

“ Jean-de-Dieu, is Marius at the Chateau Rouge? 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Good ! On arriving I shall send him at once to 
Arles, to let the consuls know that we are threatened 
with a plague of locusts, and that it is necessary to 
send soldiers here to attack them before they be¬ 
come too numerous.” 

“ It might be well, too,” said the coachman, “ to 
send some of the guardians to collect the people of 
the farms, and to warn the post-stations at Peccaix, 
Sylv£r6al, and les Saintes, that all these vermin must 
be exterminated; they are already so numerous that 
several hundred huntsmen will be needed to destroy 
them. ” 

Ren£e looked at Germaine in amazement. She 
could not believe her ears. Besides the improbability 
that a man like M. de Forton would amuse himself 
in keeping up a joke of this nature, with no other 
object than to mystify the daughter of an intimate 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


77 


friend, she could not suppose that there was an un¬ 
derstanding between him and his coachman for the 
same end. Yet the idea of calling out regiments and 
convoking peasants to give battle to swarms of 
locusts seemed to her an utter impossibility. She 
resolved to make a clean breast of her perplexity to 
Madame de Marcoiran, and asked her, not without 
hesitation, to explain what she had heard. 

“ I am sure these precautions must astonish you, 
my dear,” said Madame, “ but locusts, especially of 
that species like the one you have just seen, when 
they attain their full development, which is in about 
eight or ten days, become so strong that in one bite 
they can cut off a blade of wheat, and so voracious, 
as well as so numerous, that in an hour or two they 
can strip the trees of their foliage, or devour the 
harvests of a large field. When I first came to Ca- 
margue after my marriage, and saw these insects for 
the first time, like you I could not believe in their 
devastating power, and considered all that I heard 
about them as vulgar fables. Alas ! I learned to my 
cost that I had made a mistake in regarding as false 
what was only too true.” 

“ Have you, then, suffered from their ravages ?” 
asked Renee. 

“ Not once, but a dozen times. Every year, in 
fact, at the time of their appearance I have to 
spread nets all over my garden to preserve my dear 
flowers.” 


78 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


“ That these locusts can destroy young tender 
heads of salad I can understand,” said the Marquis, 
“ and I have heard that in the more isolated portions 
of Africa they commit extraordinary depredations. 
I was told by a Father of Mercy who came to collect 
for the redemption of captives that they are gen¬ 
erated from the sand heated by the rays of the sun 
in those vast deserts, where shortly after a wind 
arises and carries them off in the form of clouds. But 
here—” 

“ This is Africa on a small scale, Marquis; there is 
a desert likewise scorched by a fiery sun, and like¬ 
wise swept by terrible winds, the power of which 
you may soon have an opportunity of testing.” 

“ So that even here, Madame, those insects can 
ravage several acres of cultivated land ? ” 

‘ 1 They do more than that here, Monsieur.” 

“ How is that ? ” 

“ When an army of locusts goes out from Ca- 
margue, it crosses the Rhone, beside which we have 
been driving, ravages la Crau, proceeds as far as 
Beaucaire, carries the town by assault, and, continu¬ 
ing its march, which no power can arrest, lays siege 
to Montfrin.” 

“ I would very much like to know the date and 
other details of that unparalleled campaign,” said 
M. de BRsignan, repressing a strong inclination to 
laugh, “ and I would be very grateful to my most 
learned friend the Commander, who has written with 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


79 


such scrupulous fidelity the history of the King’s 
household troops, if he would give us an account of 
this expedition, which must have been anterior to 
the dominion of the Greeks and Romans.” 

“ I am at your service, Marquis,” said the Com¬ 
mander, “ unless the ladies would prefer some other 
topic. 

“ Oh, I beg of you, let us hear it, Monsieur,” said 
Renee. 

“ With the understanding,” said her father, “ that 
history has its origin in fable, and that the Church 
does not oblige us to believe it.” 

“ I can show you in my study,” said the Com¬ 
mander, “ some copies taken from authentic docu¬ 
ments in the archives of the consulate of Beaucaire, 
and certified as exact copies by the secretary.” 

“ Exact copies of'what ? ” 

“ Of the original documents, which are not more 
than a hundred and fifty years in existence.” 

“ And which are in the archives of the consulate ? ” 

“ As I have already told you.” 

“ Your word carries so much weight that I bow to 
it,” said the Marquis. “ But permit me one objec¬ 
tion; if—” 

“Oh, father, I beg of you,” said Renee, “let 
Monsieur de Forton begin his story; you can discuss 
the matter afterwards.” 

“ Obedience to the ladies,” said M. de Forton, 
gravely raising his three-cornered hat. “ We shall 


8o 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


discuss it, documents in hand, at some future time. 
I will now begin. Jean-de-Dieu, walk the horses.” 

The coachman obeyed the injunction, and the 
Commander, having taken a gum-drop from his bon- 
bonniere to clear his voice, paused a moment to col¬ 
lect his thoughts. 

“You are really anxious to hear this story ? ” said 
Germaine to Renee, whose eyes were fairly sparkling 
with impatience. Her only answer was to put her 
finger to her lips, for the Commander was about to 
begin. 

“ The island of Camargue, most honored ladies,” 
he began, “ was formed, as you know, like its neigh¬ 
bor, that of la Crau, by earth brought hither through 
inundations of the Rhone, or by sand which the fury 
of the wind had torn from the river-banks. Although 
neighbors, these two sisters do not resemble each 
other in the least. Whilst in la Crau the soil is 
almost entirely hidden by a bed of pebbles, between 
which shoots up a fine grass, serving as pasture for 
innumerable flocks of sheep, which wander over these 
stony plains, Camargue cannot boast the smallest 
pebble, and all stones used in the construction of 
houses are brought here from a distance. 

“ This light soil, impregnated as it is with salt, and 
in most parts rebellious to all culture, offers a vast 
field of operations for the locusts; they lay their 
eggs there every autumn without fear that they will 
be destroyed by the plough. 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


8l 


“The inundations are what they have to dread; 
but when the winters are exceptionally dry, so that 
the river does not overflow in the spring, the sun 
heats the sand, and hatches the eggs in such quan¬ 
tities that in a few days the earth is covered with 
young insects, scarcely larger than ants. They grow 
quickly, and proceed in countless swarms to wherever 
they can find the first food, by means of which they 
develop, and strengthen their wings. It is only then 
that they show their voracity and enter upon a cam¬ 
paign. Early in the last century, about 1611-12, 
the winter and spring were particularly dry, and con¬ 
sequently followed by very early heat, under the 
influence of which, in all the dried-up marshes, there 
was a formidable hatching of locusts, who, favored 
by the temperature, rapidly attained development. 
A few days sufficed in which to eat up all the grass 
within their reach; then, incited by hunger, they 
passed along the river-bank, leaving behind them, 
instead of rich verdure such as you have just seen, 
a bare and devastated territory, which seemed as if 
a conflagration had swept over it. You know that 
Camargue is in the form of a triangle, the head of 
which—that is to say, the narrowest point—is near 
Arles. It was in this narrow space that their ever- 
advancing army finally encamped. The breadth of 
the river no doubt saved Arles from the terrible visi¬ 
tation, but the smaller branch of the Rhone could 
not protect Trinquetaille. The locusts, impelled by 


82 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


hunger and favored, probably, by the wind, rose with 
a loud noise of wings, and flew over to the other side 
of the river, where they recommenced their ravages, 
proceeding in the direction of Beaucaire. 

“ The Fair of St. Madeleine, which is held every 
year in that town, was just then going on and ex¬ 
tended around the walls the whole length of the 
Rhone. Bales of merchandise from the Levant, 
from Italy, Spain, and various parts of France were 
heaped up in the streets, in the squares, and in that 
temporary town which the farmers had constructed 
without the walls. There was a profusion of all ma¬ 
terials, and likewise of provisions; besides hay for 
the beasts of burden, grain, which the porters un¬ 
loaded from the vessels, and flour, freshly sifted, 
from the mills of Tarascon. 

“ Amid all this tumult and the unusual bustle pro¬ 
duced by a large concourse of strangers, every one 
busy with his own affairs, mounted messengers rode 
post-haste from Trinquetaille to warn the municipal 
authorities that the enemy was marching upon Beau¬ 
caire. 

“ The locusts had never penetrated that far before. 
Yet the authorities had often heard of their ravages, 
and now sent out some reliable men to observe the 
movements of the invading army and see for them¬ 
selves if the danger were real. Two days were given 
them in which to make their report to the council. 

“ They returned in a few hours, pale with horror 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


83 


and scarcely able to relate what they had seen. It 
was not, they said, an invasion, but a living inunda¬ 
tion, rolling towards the town with a confused, rum¬ 
bling sound, caused by the thousands and thousands 
of insects, who pursued their work of destruction as 
they came. A few minutes sufficed to reduce a tree 
laden with foliage to a mere skeleton, from the 
branches of which poured forth swarms of these 
creatures, eager to continue their ravages. The 
enemy was scarcely a league from the town; there 
was not a moment to be lost. The tocsin sounded 
from every church, the clarion in every street, an¬ 
nouncing with flourish of trumpets to all that those 
who had merchandise which might be damaged must 
hasten to enter the city limits, as the gates were 
about to be closed. The garrison was placed under 
arms; the major in command during the time of the 
fair doubled the guards, had the guns loaded, and 
cannon set up in the direction of the attack. Vessels 
laden with flour or grain pushed off from the shore, and 
went to anchor in mid-stream, while the population 
of the town gathered upon the walls to await the 
approach of the foe. They had not long to wait. 
Soon a long gray line could be distinctly traced upon 
the horizon; it was advancing with the regularity of 
the tide upon a level beach. 

All at once the last tree in the avenue shivered, 
as if blown by the wind; a few moments elapsed, 
and it remained bare and black, while the second 


8 4 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


and the third, and all the elms, successively under¬ 
went the same process of transformation, resembling 
somewhat that of tapers which the extinguisher puts 
out, one by one, when the service in church is over. 
The multitude looked on in terror; but the gray line 
was now quite close to them, and behind it, farther 
than eye could reach, was a vast cloud obscuring 
fields and meadows. One hope remained to the 
owners of cabins outside the walls; this was the ob¬ 
stacle presented to the enemy by the navigation canal, 
which cut them off from the town, and from which 
the drawbridge had been removed. 

“ When they reached the bank, the first batallions 
actually hesitated and seemed disconcerted; but be¬ 
hind them came a famished horde that passed over 
their heads and, spreading their scaly wings, crossed 
the canal, over which they hovered like a thick, dark, 
moving cloud. One portion of them now settled 
upon the meadows and the other swarmed about the 
high walls of the town, which presently they began to 
climb. 

“ Their imminent peril roused the inhabitants from 
their stupor; each seized branches, brooms, sticks, or 
poured boiling water upon the assailants. The cannon 
roared, the drums beat, the noise was tremendous, 
the slaughter terrible; but still the cloud came on, 
and the locusts mounted higher and higher, making 
their peculiar noise. This went on till the inunda¬ 
tion had crept up to the summit of the ramparts and 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 85 

deluged the town, dividing into streams and rushing 
through every street. 

“ Thus was Beaucaire taken by the locusts in the 
month of July, 1612, under the reign of the Most 
Christian Prince Louis, thirteenth of the name,” con¬ 
cluded the narrator, bowing a second time. 

“ Oh, Monsieur, do me the favor to tell what hap¬ 
pened next!” cried Renee, who was much interested 
in this recital. 

“ Alas ! fair damsel, what too often happens in 
towns taken by assault, ’ * said the Commander. 44 The 
victors gave themselves up to pillage; they invaded 
the houses and shops, devoured all cloths and wool¬ 
len goods, poisoned the wells, spoiled provisions, in¬ 
fected the air, caused an epidemic, which happily had 
no very serious consequences, and after an occupa¬ 
tion of three or four days, during which fearful dam¬ 
age was done, finally left Beaucaire by the opposite 
wall, to march upon the town of Montfrin.” 

44 Of which the locusts, no doubt, likewise gained 
possession. 

44 No, Mademoiselle,” said the Commander, smil¬ 
ing at the young girl’s innocent curiosity; 44 the Mont- 
frinois were at once braver and more fortunate than 
their neighbors of Beaucaire. Seeing the approach 
of the invading army, they marched against them; 
every one took up arms, old men, women, and chil¬ 
dren. The carnage, lasting for three days, was ter¬ 
rible; yet so great was the number of assailants that 


86 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


they would finally have won the day, had not a vio¬ 
lent storm, accompanied by a terrific wind, precipi¬ 
tated into the Rhone every variety of these fero¬ 
cious locusts, from the gigantea , or giant, to the blue 
locust, which is the smallest of all.” * 

“ My God, Monsieur, I hope that they will not be 
so terrible this year,” said Ren£e, deeply moved. 

“ I hope so too, fair lady; but as it is written, 
* Heaven helps those who help themselves,’ I have, 
as you may have heard, taken precautions against 
their inroads which will be of great utility.” 

“ Instead of other amusements, my dear,” said Ma¬ 
dame to the young guest, “ we will give you a locust- 
hunt.” 

“At which I will be present,” cried M. de Ble- 
signan, ever ready to excite himself about nothing, 
“ and I will give them no quarter. I, who thought 

* Though great accuracy of detail is not usually demanded 
from a novelist, yet, as we pretend to give a true picture of Ca- 
margue in this book, we feel bound to remark that all that is 
here said of the locusts is confirmed by many authentic docu¬ 
ments preserved in the archives of the town of Beaucaire, such 
as consultations among the consuls, the reports of the treasurers, 
and the like. We may add that in 1513 swarms of these insects 
in a few hours ravaged eight thousand acres in the Arles terri¬ 
tory, and that in the same year the consuls of Arles, Beaucaire, 
Tarascon, and Marseilles proclaimed a reward of twenty cents for 
every pound of eggs gathered. Sufficient eggs were brought 
them to have produced six thousand millions of these insects. 
Despite the precautions now taken, and the cultivation of por¬ 
tions of the land, which prevents them arising in such numbers, 
we have ourselves seen, on the 24th of May, 1875, whole com¬ 
panies of soldiers setting out from Arles or Marseilles to combat 
these insects.— Author's Note, 



THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 87 

them so harmless and innocent. That is the way 
many people deceive us in this world.” 

Madame smiled behind her fan: with a man of 
this temperament it was impossible to converse calmly 
or correctly. 

“ We will go together,” said Germaine in a low 
voice to her friend. “ Do you ride ? ” 

“ I often ride at Nyons, ” said Renee. 

“ Very well; then I can promise you a treat.” 

“ The pleasure of this hunt will have the added 
charm of novelty.” 

“ If you are brave,” said Germaine, “ I will also 
take you to the ferrades and muselades . ” 

“ What are they ? * ’ 

“ You shall see. Contests with bulls, and all that. 
I will tell you no more.” 

“ Germaine, like the true Camarguaise that she is,” 
said Madame, enjoys them beyond measure; but I 
doubt, my dear Renee, whether you will take the 
same pleasure in these somewhat savage amusements.” 

“ We shall also make an excursion to the seashore, 
visit the village of Aigues-Mortes, fish, sail upon the 
Valcares, and look in upon our friends the salt- 
workers. 

“ Who are the salt-workers ? ” 

“ People who gather the salt and work in the salt¬ 
works. 

“ So many and such varied pleasures, my dear! ” 
said Renee. 


88 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


“ Ah, activity is a necessity here. We should be 
very much bored if we were not occupied; in cities 
amusements seek us; here we must seek them.” 

“ With you I shall not be bored for an instant; be¬ 
sides, this country has a charm which attracts me 
already. Oh, look there! it seems as if it had rained 
down sugar.” 

“ Where ?” 

“ There, on the banks of those streams.” 

“Ah, yes; that is the summer snow. In a 
moment or two you will see a vast expanse covered 
with it.” 

“ Does it snow here in summer ? ” 

“ Certainly; but this snow, instead of falling from 
heaven, comes up out of the earth: it is simply salt.” 

“ Whence does it come ? ” 

“ These lands are usually covered with salt water 
in the winter,” said Madame; “ the water sinks into 
the earth, and when the summer comes, the sun ab¬ 
sorbs the damp, and by certain natural laws which I 
cannot explain to you the salt is again attracted to 
the surface, which it powders. Look on this side, 
and you will see enough of it.” 

“ It certainly has the appearance of great sheets of 
unmelted snow,” said Ren£e; “and it would even 
seem frozen hard, for the sun makes it sparkle like 
diamonds.” 

“ Camargue is doing all it can to receive you worth¬ 
ily,” said the Commander; “ first it offered you 


THE RETURN FROM ARLES. 


89 


flowers and verdure, now it spreads under your feet a 
white mantle strewn with pearls, rubies, and diamonds.” 

“ I am very grateful to it,” said Renee, “ but I 
confess that I would be afraid to venture upon that 
shining carpet.” 

“ Why, my dear ? ” asked Germaine, in surprise. 

“ For fear I should sink.” 

“ At the most your feet would leave their imprint 
on that brilliant and brittle surface.” 

“ And never yet would the Sansouire have retained 
a more charming impression,” said M. de Forton, who 
was at his twentieth pinch of snuff, and consequently 
at his twentieth compliment. Truth to tell, his com¬ 
pliments had but little effect upon the young girl to 
whom they were addressed. Leaning out of the car¬ 
riage, she devoured everything with her eyes, asking 
explanations of her companions, who enjoyed her 
astonishment. All at once she gave an exclamation 
of delight at sight of a superb stream, the blue waters 
of which, stirred by a gentle breeze, shook its crown 
of reeds, which shone like sword-blades in the rays 
of the sun, while it lay like a velvet mantle em¬ 
broidered with stars of fire. 

On the banks of this stream, which flowed on to 
the sea in a verdant grove of trees gracefully outlined 
against the sky, was a large white house, at once re¬ 
tiring and coquettish. 

“We have arrived,” said Germaine. “There is 
the Valcares, and there the chateau.” 


9 o 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


CHAPTER IV. 

LES SAINTES MARIES. 


C ^REAT was the surprise of the Chevalier Frederic 
y when, informed at the last moment of the ar¬ 
rival of the carriage, he had seen his uncle the Com¬ 
mander opening the carriage-door and giving his hand 
to a tall and beautiful young girl, dressed with ele¬ 
gant simplicity, who was the first to alight from the 
vehicle. 

He did not recognize Mile, de Blesignan at first, 
and stood motionless till a mischievous smile from 
Ther£sine, who, a few steps behind him, was enjoying 
the dramatic effect which her discretion had pro¬ 
duced, revealed the secret to him. He promptly 
recovered himself, with that ease which comes from 
intercourse with the world, and went forward to meet 
and offer his compliments to the gracious visitor. 

Certainly his compliments, which were quite im¬ 
promptu, were offered with delightful courtesy. 
The way in which he kissed Renee’s hand was so 
correct, and his greeting to the old Marquis so per¬ 
fectly en regie, that M. de Forton, who had been 
somewhat disconcerted by the unexpected appear- 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


9* 


ance of his nephew, whom he had been wont to call 
“ the savage of Camargue,” suddenly lost his anx¬ 
ious air, and said in a low voice to Madame: 

“ See how much the Chevalier is changed for the 
better ! ” 

Unfortunately, both Madame and Germaine were 
too much engrossed with the joy of seeing Frederic 
again to give a thought to etiquette, and, instead of 
responding to his greeting by a ceremonious rever¬ 
ence, they threw themselves, each in turn, into his 
arms, embracing him with a tenderness which threat¬ 
ened to spoil this happy beginning. 

And the worst was to come; for when the Com¬ 
mander strove to explain this breach of convention¬ 
ality to his old friend the Marquis, by explaining 
that if Frederic had behaved thus unceremoniously 
in presence of Mile, de Blesignan, it was because he 
had not seen his people for years, M. de Blesignan 
cried out: 

“ Cornebleu ! my boy, we are not at Trianon or 
Versailles; and being in the country, the least we 
can do is to act as if we were in the country. God 
be praised ! I like to see the lad give his mother 
and sister a hearty kiss. It shows he has some heart 
in his composition and some blood in his veins.” 

“You are indulgent, Marquis,” said the Com¬ 
mander, “ and I thank you for it, but Mile, de Ble¬ 
signan may be offended.” 

“ Ren£e offended! Oh, do not fear, my dear Com- 


92 LES SAINTES MARIES. 

mander. She has been accustomed in the mountains 
to plenty of liberty and freedom from restraint, and 
I can assure you in advance that she will be delighted 
to find herself in a house where etiquette does not 
impose its cold and narrow formalities.” 

M. de Forton made no reply, but he heaved an 
involuntary sigh of regret that M. de Bldsignan should 
attach so little importance to the laws of good breed¬ 
ing and true politeness. 

Meanwhile the Queen’s Dragoon, less negligent 
than his uncle supposed, had already returned to the 
young lady, and offered his arm to lead her into the 
Mas Rouge. 

After a few minutes’ conversation in the drawing¬ 
room under the eyes of a whole gallery of ancestors 
hanging upon the walls, above the sofas and arm¬ 
chairs embroidered by a long succession of noble 
chatelaines, the company dispersed; the Commander 
to escort the Marquis to his apartment, Germaine to 
bring Ren£e to that which Ther£sine had prepared 
for her near her friend’s, while Madame de Mar- 
coiran, desiring to have a few moments alone with 
her son, went out with him to walk in the quiet 
alleys of the garden. 

Naturally they spoke at first of his health, his so¬ 
journ at Versailles, his journey home, and in fact all 
that, most nearly concerning the young man, most 
interested his mother. 

At this moment, however, the Queen’s Dragoon 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


93 


would fain have given another turn to the conver¬ 
sation ; he knew all about himself, and though he 
certainly loved his regiment, and would not willingly 
have exchanged his uniform for a civilian’s dress, nor 
his brilliant life at Versailles for a very prolonged stay 
at Camargue, whose duck-covers were not so near his 
heart as he had declared, probably in all sincerity, 
to old Bernard, he did not care to talk of these things 
just then. 

For, having been set at liberty for a few months, 
he was eager to enjoy his new life, to spread his 
wings, as it were, forget his battalion, his superior 
officers, and the court, to be merged once more in 
the daring hunter of old. Such were his feelings on 
getting home; and now his curiosity had a fresh 
stimulus. The appearance of Renee upon a balcony 
overlooking the garden gave him an opportunity to 
put a few questions in his turn. Leaning upon the 
railing, Renee and Germaine chattered together like 
two pretty magpies; their animated conversation, in¬ 
terrupted by bursts of fresh, sweet laughter, caused 
Madame to look up. 

“ I did not know that Mile, de Blesignan was com¬ 
ing here,” said Frederic, looking at the two pretty 
heads, one dark, one fair, framed by a flowering 
vine. “ Why did you not tell me ? ” 

“ I myself knew only about a week ago,” said Ma¬ 
dame. “ Your uncle told me of it when he came 
back from Avignon, where he had gone on business.” 


94 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


“ Does M. de Blesignan live in Avignon now ?” 

“ No, he has not left Nyons, but he was in Avi¬ 
gnon that day, and your uncle met him there. You 
know they are old friends.” 

** They were in the Household Troops together,” 
said Frederic. 

“ Yes, and they had not seen each other for a long 
time,” continued Madame. “ So my brother insisted 
that the Marquis should come to spend some days at 
the Commandery.” 

“ M. de Blesignan accepted the invitation ? ” 

“ On the contrary, he pleaded that he could not 
leave his daughter alone.” 

“ ‘ Bring her with you, then,’ said my brother. 

“ ‘ She would be very homesick, alone in a strange 
place,’ said the Marquis.” 

“ She knew my sister,” interrupted Frederic. 

“ So your uncle told him, a,nd reminded him of the 
slight relationship between the families. This rather 
staggered the Marquis, and he said: 

“ ‘ Well, I do not positively refuse your invitation, 
and I shall certainly pay you a visit as soon as pos¬ 
sible. ’ 

But, my dear Blesignan, here is the very oppor¬ 
tunity,’ said the Commander. ‘ This is the most 
favorable season to make a voyage of discovery into 
the desert. The country 'will be still green, there 
will not be too much wind, and the heat will be 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


95 


moderate. Mile, de Blesignan has never seen Ca- 
margue, which is most original and has a peculiar 
charm of its own. My sister and my niece will be 
agreeable companions for her. When she is tired of 
the desert, we shall make excursions to the many 
curious places that serve us as frontier towns. Arles, 
celebrated for its Roman monuments, the beauty of 
its women and their picturesque costume; Saint- 
Gilles, with its mediaeval ruins, its crypt, its beau¬ 
tiful front, and the famous spiral of Saint-Gilles, a 
staircase so marvellous in execution that no one can 
be made a master mason without having studied it; 
Aigues-Mortes, slumbering since the time of the Cru¬ 
sades behind its magnificent walls, modelled upon 
those of Dalmatia; its celebrated tower of Constance, 
built by Saint Louis just before sailing for Palestine; 
the famous monastery of Franquevaux and Psalmody, 
contemporary with Charlemagne ; Beaucaire, where 
its unrivalled fair will open in a few weeks. You will 
see the gathering-in of the harvests, cutting of grasses, 
ferrades and muselades, and a hunt such as you have 
never seen.’ In a word,” concluded Madame, “ he 
opened our jewel-case and displayed all our treasures 
at once.” 

“ Not quite all,” said Frederic, “ for, in your esti¬ 
mation, he passed over in silence the most precious 
of jewels. ” 

“ What is that ?” 


9 6 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


“ Les Saintes.” 

“ No, your uncle held that out as a final induce¬ 
ment, but still his friend hesitated, saying: 

“ ‘ Perhaps. I will speak to her about it. In a 
few weeks we might—’ 

“ ‘ In a few weeks will be too late,’ cried your 
uncle. ‘ While seeking an opportunity you will miss 
the best one of all.’ 

“ 4 What is that ?’ 

“ ‘ The famous pilgrimage of les Saintes, which 
takes place on the twenty-fifth of May.’ 

“ ‘ Ah, it is true. I promised to take her there.’ 

“ ‘ Well, now is the time to keep your promise. 
We will go together from the Mas Rouge to the tomb 
of the Marys, which is only a pleasant drive. Come, 
it is agreed. Be at Arles on Sunday, the twenty- 
third, and we will meet you there.’ 

“ ‘ Urgent business keeps me at Arles over to¬ 
morrow. ’ 

“ ‘ Then Monday at latest; the journey to Arles 
will take a few hours at the most; there is nothing 
to prevent you, once your business is done, from 
sleeping there; next day we can bring you over to 
the Chdteau Rouge.' 

“ M. de Blesignan, dislodged from his last intrench- 
ment, gave in, and that is how they came here so 
unexpectedly.” 

“ Of course you are all going to les Saintes to¬ 
morrow ? ” 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


97 


“ All,” said Madame, “for I suppose you will be 
of the party.” 

Most certainly; with the greatest pleasure,” said 
Frederic. “ Mile. Renee will probably stay some 
weeks here ? ” 

“ Some days, at all events. Would you have rec¬ 
ognized her ? ” 

“ Yes and no. Her features are the same, and yet 
she is wonderfully changed.” 

“ How long is it since you saw her ? ” 

“ Nearly six years. It was while she was at the 
convent; but then she wore a black uniform, and, as 
well as I can remember, seemed delicate, pale, sickly, 
and very small.” 

“ That is not surprising when you consider that 
she was then scarcely twelve years old. At that age 
it is not very easy to guess what a young girl will 
be.” 

“ Now she has a splendid figure, a queenly car¬ 
riage, a look of distinction which many of the court 
ladies might envy, perfectly regular features, and 
exquisite golden hair.” 

“ I like her appearance very much,” said Madame; 
“ but what pleases me most of all is her perfect sim¬ 
plicity, frankness, and amiability.” 

“Her blue eyes have not the spirit in them,” said 
Frederic, “ that Germaine’s dark ones have. When 
Germaine is animated her eyes shine like stars.” 

Their conversation was interrupted at that moment 


9 S 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


by Ther£sine, who came to inform them that the 
curate of Notre Dame cTAmour was waiting in the 
drawing-room. The good priest, hearing of the re¬ 
turn of his former pupil, had come in all haste to see 
him. When Frederic entered, he rushed forward 
and embraced him with real joy. Only then did he 
remember that he had not yet saluted the mistress 
of the house. 

“ I venture to hope that Madame de Marcoiran 
will excuse my impoliteness,” said he, bowing, in 
some embarrassment, to the chatelaine. 

“ Upon one condition only, Messire Boucarut,” 
said she, smiling. “ Do you agree to it in advance ? ” 

“ I have too often imposed penances myself upon 
others to refuse to perform my own.” 

‘‘You promise ? ” 

Yes, Madame, counting upon your indulgence.” 

“ Then I forgive you. Theresine, set a cover at 
table for Messire Boucarut. He will dine with us.” 

“No, dear Madame, I beg of you, not to-day; 
you have company, and they are all strangers to me.” 

“You will make their acquaintance.” 

“ Look at my dress—my old soutane.” 

“ I will explain to my guests that if you have not 
a new soutane, it is because you deprive yourself of 
everything, spite of all that can be said or done, to 
give to the poor.” 

“ Oh, Madame, I beg of you, do not say that. It 
would make me unhappy.” 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


99 


“ You are too modest,” said Frederic. 

“ No, my boy, only timid.” 

“ The more reason that I cannot spare you, Mes- 
sire, ” said Madame, “ for you once told me yourself 
that some great saint declared timidity to be a touch 
of pride.” 

“ It is true.” 

“So I must cure you of so terrible a vice,” con- 

nued the noble lady. 

“ I submit to the first penance, but it is contrary 
to all canonical rules to impose a second for the same 
offence.” 

“ Then, for this time, my mother will take pity on 
you, my excellent master, and refrain from mention¬ 
ing your reason for wearing a garment which is not 
altogether new.” 

If she would also excuse me from being present—” 
Even were I so disposed,” said Madame, “it 
would be impossible. I hear our guests approaching 
now. ” 

At that very moment the door opened, and the 
Marquis de Blesignan entered with his old friend the 
Commander. 

“ Messire Boucarut, curate of Notre Dame d’A- 
mour, ” said Madame, presenting the ecclesiastic 
to them; then, turning to the priest: “ The Marquis 
de Blesignan, Seigneur of Nyons, Blesignan, and 
other places, our honored kinsman. My brother 
the Commander.” 


IOO 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


The three men bowed and sat down. 

“ You inhabit a curious country, Messire,” said 
the Marquis. “ I never met its equal for original- 
lty. 

“ Poor but good,” said the curate, nervously fin¬ 
gering his breviary and casting timid, furtive glances 
at the tall stranger with the rough voice, and nose 
hooked like a bird of prey, who fixed upon him a 
pair of greenish-gray eyes with phosphorescent lights 
in them, and showed, when he spoke, rows of close, 
white, pointed teeth, like those of a wolf. 

The only thing in his hasty scrutiny which at all 
reassured him was that the Marquis seemed so care¬ 
less about his own dress. A marquis who wears 
close-cropped hair, a large striped cravat, a long gray 
surtout, blue cashmere breeches, and long boots 
could not be very exacting about the costume of 
others. 

To the trim undress uniform of the Queen’s Dra¬ 
goon and the scrupulously correct attire of the Com¬ 
mander, who wore a coat of Carmelite brown, a vest 
of the same color, striped breeches, buckled shoes, 
and a lace cravat wound several times round his neck, 
the costume of M. de. Blesignan offered a striking 
contrast. 

But the priest had no anxiety as regarded them. 
He knew he would meet with every indulgence from 
them, and the only thing which now alarmed him was 
the appearance of Mile, de Blesignan, who. Marius 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


IOI 


had told him was a splendid young lady. She came 
in wearing a simple white dress enlivened with rib¬ 
bons, her hair curled in infantile fashion on her fore¬ 
head and gathered in a rich mass at the back of her 
head. None of those embroideries, jewels, or other 
luxurious ornaments which had been so much in 
vogue a few years before. She wore low-heeled 
shoes, a simply-made, tight-fitting dress with open 
sleeves. 

Germaine, still more plainly dressed, had resumed 
the Provengale garb in all its purity: a tight jacket, 
or rather waist, of black velvet, with silver buttons; 
a double muslin kerchief crossed on her breast; a 
short skirt, falling in graceful folds. On her head, 
surmounting the dark bands of hair brushed smoothly 
on her forehead, was a high, pointed, white cap; it 
was encircled by a broad black ribbon, edged with 
narrow white lace, which fell in streamers over her 
shoulders. 

The poor priest, accustomed to the exaggerated 
fashions which belonged to the early part of the 
reign of Louis XVI.,—the paniers, the red heels, the 
gigantic headgear, powdered, and surmounted by a 
structure of feathers,—was astonished at so much 
simplicity. 

An optimist by temperament, and led by his own 
virtue to be indulgent towards others, the worthy 
curate was easily persuaded that all the changes which 
had taken place since the coronation of Louis the 


102 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


Just were so many steps towards the return of the 
Golden Age; and what he now beheld with his own 
eyes convinced him that the time was not far distant 
when virtue alone would hold the sceptre in the 
world. 

Before she had spoken a word, Mile, de Blesignan, 
in whom he found a striking resemblance to one of 
the angels, white-robed and golden-haired, in his 
picture of the Assumption, had quite won the old 
priest’s heart. He was really pleased to find himself 
seated near her, especially when Germaine told him 
that she had come all the way to Camargue on pur¬ 
pose to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of the three 
Marys at les Saintes. 

Whilst Madame, the Marquis, and the Commander 
began to talk politics, the curate, avoiding that fiery 
ground, took part in a much less stormy conversation 
about the next day’s pilgrimage. 

“ I know very well,” said Renee to her cousin, 
“ that the Feast of the Marys is celebrated in Prov¬ 
ence, in Languedoc, and other places besides. I 
have heard a good deal about it, yet I must admit 
that I am not very well versed in the legend con¬ 
nected with it, and really, before going to the tomb, 
I would like to hear what relics it contains.” 

“ The bones of the three Marys, Mademoiselle,” 
said Frederic. 

” The head of St. James and three of the heads of 
the Holy Innocents,” added Germaine. 


LES SA1NTES MARIES. 


103 


“ I know that much,” said Renee; “ but who are 
the three Marys themselves ? Neither the Blessed 
Virgin nor Mary Magdalen is among them. So I 
beg of you, Monsieur Frederic, to try and furbish 
up my somewhat rusty ideas.” 

“ My own are a little confused, I must confess.” 

“ Well, you, Germaine.” 

“ There were Mary Jacobi and Mary Salome and 
Mary—oh, there I am lost.” 

“ And Mary the mother of James,” said Frederic. 

“ No, my dear Frederic,” said Germaine, “ Mary 
the mother of James, bishop of Jerusalem, is the 
same as Mary Jacobi.” 

“ No, she cannot be.” 

“ But I assure you I am right.” 

“ Messire Boucarut will perhaps settle matters for 
us,” said Renee, turning to the priest, “ and kindly 
enlighten our ignorance.” 

“ I shall esteem it a great honor to be useful to 
you in any way, Mademoiselle,” said the priest, 
courteously. 

‘ ‘ You can be both useful and agreeable to us all, 
Messire,” said Renee, “ if you will tell us something 
of the actual history of the three Marys.” 

“This legend is very simple,” said the priest; 
“ and since you wish to hear it, I will relate it just 
as the most accurate historians have handed it down 
to us. 

“ In the course of a violent persecution, instigated 


104 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


by the high-priest Ananias, a few years after the 
death of Our Saviour, the Jews seized numbers of 
Christians and cast them into prison; but not daring 
to put them to death, because there were many im¬ 
portant personages among them, and, on the other 
hand, fearing that the example of constancy given 
by these courageous confessors might tend to increase 
the number of the disciples of Christ, they resolved 
to get rid of them in another way. 

“ They put them on board of a great vessel with¬ 
out sails, oars, or cordage, and towing them out into 
the middle of the river, abandoned them to the fury 
of the waves. Now in this vessel, amongst many 
others of the faithful, were Mary the mother of 
James, usually known as Mary Jacobi; Mary daugh¬ 
ter of Salome; Marcella and Sarah, their servants; 
Mary Magdalen; Martha, and Lazarus her brother; 
Eutropius of Orange, George-of Velay, Trophimius 
of Arles, and many other saints, who became the first 
apostles of Gaul. 

“ Having betaken themselves to prayer, God or¬ 
dained that, gliding peacefully over the sea, the waves 
whereof parted to give them passage, the wind should 
blow them to that portion of the coast now the prov¬ 
ince of Narbonne, where the Rhone falls into the sea, 
surrounding the Stecades Isles.” 

“ Pardon me, Messire, if I interrupt you,” said 
Renee, “ but I must plead ignorance of all these 
places.” 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


105 

I should rather ask your pardon, noble lady/’ 
said the priest, “ for not having given some explana¬ 
tion of the names which occur in this legend. But 
we are quite in our own neighborhood, for the Ste- 
cades Isles are really Provence and Camargue.” 

Many thanks, Messire; will you now proceed 
with your story ? ” 

“ Having been thus miraculously delivered from 
the perils of the sea,” he resumed, “ the holy trav¬ 
ellers went down the shore to a short distance from 
the Grau d’Orgon, and wishing to give thanks to 
God, found a spot near at hand where there was a 
little natural eminence. They erected an altar, con¬ 
structed, for want of other materials, out of sand 
and earth petrified by the waters of a spring which 
God caused to gush forth in answer to their 
prayers. ” 

“ These miracles were no doubt the origin of the 
church of les Saintes ? ” asked Ren6e. 

“ Yes, in this sense, that they determined these il¬ 
lustrious exiles to convert the place into an oratory 
dedicated to God, in honor of the Blessed Virgin; 
after which, leaving their companions to go forth 
over the whole country bringing the light of Chris¬ 
tianity everywhere, the holy Marys, Mary Magdalen, 
Mary Jacobi, and Salome, with their followers, re¬ 
solved to settle in that place. They had a cell built 
adjoining the oratory, where they passed the rest of 
their lives in the practice of the most sublime virtues.” 


Io6 LES SAlNTES MARIES. 

“ Does the present church date back to that re¬ 
mote period ? 

“ It is fortunate that my uncle is quite absorbed 
in his discussion on the future States-General, ” said 
Frederic in a low voice to Renee. 

“ Why is it fortunate ? ” asked she. 

“ Because he would forthwith begin upon history, 
ancient stones, medals, and Heaven knows what be¬ 
sides. And, if he had heard your question, he would 
prove by an endless dissertation that if the ancient 
church were not built in the first century, it must 
have been built in the second, third, fourth, or fifth, 
at least that it was neither in the tenth nor the elev¬ 
enth, and that if the Emperor Constantine was not 
the architect thereof, it was Guillaume de Provence, 
or Count Bertrand, or some other, for the church 
was really not built by any one person.” 

“ You are cruel to learned men,” said Renee. 

“ I am not afraid of pistols or swords in a hand-to- 
hand combat,” said Frederic, “ but I do fear stones, 
and Latin even more.” 

“Yet it is a noble language, and the language of 
the Church.” 

“ Do you know it ? ” 

“ No, I regret to say I do not.” 

“ I am glad to hear that you do not,” said Ger¬ 
maine, “ for, according to one of our proverbs, there 
is nothing so dangerous for a woman.” 

I never heard of such a proverb,” said Ren£e. 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


107 


li Well, here it is : 

“ * Fiho que mounto, vacco que descend 
Capelan que danso, fumo que parlo latin, 

Au toujours fa marido fin.’ ” * 

“ Unhappily for me, my dear Germaine,” said 
Renee, ‘‘I do not know Proven^ale any better than 
Latin.” 

“ That is a pity in our Camargue, ” said Germaine, 
proceeding to translate the proverb for her. 

“Yet you must remember,” said Renee, laughing, 
“ that in the archives of our convent were preserved, 
as a great honor to the community, some Latin verses 
composed in honor of Notre Dame de Rochefort by 
a religious of St. Praxeda named Julienne Morel.” 

“ She probably died young and met with a violent 
death,” said Frederic, “ for there would not be a 
just Providence if she did not suffer an exemplary 
punishment proportioned to her crime.” 

“ She died quietly in her bed, at the age of 
eighty,” said Renee, “ in spite of the aggravating 
circumstance that she spoke twelve foreign lan¬ 
guages.” 

“ If she had confined herself to one she would be 
alive yet,” said the Dragoon, coolly. 

“ And meanwhile I have not yet heard the history 
of the church whither we are going to-morrow.” 


* “ A girl who ascends from the plain to the mountain, 
A cow which thence descends, 

A priest who dances, a woman who speaks Latin, 

Will all come to a bad end.” 



108 LES SAINTES MARIES. 

“ This church,” said the priest, “ is just behind the 
oratory, and it was built under the following circum¬ 
stances. Of the altar of clay erected by the first 
apostles of Provence, and of the marble slab put up 
to their memory by the faithful immediately after 
their death, only some remnants are preserved. The 
oratory and grove were but a heap of ruins when a 
poor hermit came to establish himself there, where 
the Saracens had destroyed everything. This was 
about the end of the tenth century, when a king of 
Arles, who, according to the chronicle, was devoted 
to the pleasures of the chase, and on that account 
frequented the forests of Camargue, met one day 
with the hermit, who told him that the bodies of the 
holy women were buried in that neighborhood. The 
king immediately gave orders that the ruins should 
be inclosed by an edifice which was at once a church 
and a fortress.” 

“ A church I can understand,” said Renee, “ but 
why a fortress ? ” 

“ On account of the Saracens or Moors, Made¬ 
moiselle.” 

“ Did they venture to advance that far at so late a 
period ?” said Renee. 

“ Alas ! Mademoiselle, even in the last century, 
that is to say, less than a hundred years ago, their 
vessels appeared so frequently upon these shores that 
the inhabitants of Aigues-Mortes addressed a petition 
to the king, Francis I., begging him to provide them 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


IO9 

with some means of combating these abominable 
infidels, who by armed force took away from the very 
gates of the town the women and children employed 
in the salt-works, taking them to Algeria, where 
they sold them as slaves. ” 

“ Why, even in our own day, ” said Frederic, 11 spite 
of the lesson given them by Louis XIV., these pirates 
had the insolence to cruise about the very entrance 
to the port of Marseilles, and to seize upon fishing- 
boats or even trading-vessels, which they rob, and 
the crews of which they take into that cursed country 
whence the Fathers of Mercy are ransoming captives 
every year.” 

“ A day will come,” cried the priest, “ when our 
kings will put an end to this piracy, by invading these 
wretches in their haunts. To the eldest daughter of 
the Church, and to her glorious monarch, who, on 
ascending the throne of France, has sought to dispel 
every trace of bondage, belongs the accomplishment 
of this last act of justice, an act to be enrolled in 
that book of honor on the first page of which is 
written, *' Gesta Dei per Francos , ’ the Works of God 
by the French.” 

M Be happy, Mile, de Blesignan,” murmured 
Frederic; “ there is Latin for you now.” 

“ And beautiful Latin,” said the young girl, in 
a voice quivering with emotion; “ it is the bead-roll 
of honor for our nation.” 

The priest modestly resumed: 


I IO 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


“ From that time forth the faithful were enabled 
to proceed, as before, to the long-deserted shrine. 
Many miracles were wrought there; and the number 
of pilgrims ever increasing, in course of time a little 
town grew up which was also surrounded by fortified 
walls, and bore successively the names of Notre 
Dame de la Barque, de la Mer, and at last des Saintes 
Maries. This state of things might have lasted for 
centuries, had not good King Rene of Anjou come 
thither, to venerate the sacred relics. He then 
learned that these relics, the presence of which was 
attested by numberless miracles, were still buried 
under heaps of rubbish, and that their exact vicinity 
was unknown. From the researches instituted by 
the pious monarch and carried on with equal ardor 
and intelligence, the oratory, altar, and grotto were 
each disclosed in turn; and at last the relics of the 
three Marys, the head of St. James and those of the 
Innocents, brought from the East by the holy women. 
The relics thus collected, enclosed in costly reliqua¬ 
ries, were publicly exposed in the church, which was 
considerably enlarged and solemnly consecrated, in 
presence of the kings of Provence and Bavaria, ac¬ 
companied by three or four hundred lords, the Car¬ 
dinal Legate of the Holy See, twelve bishops, and 
a host of other ecclesiastics, not to mention an im¬ 
mense multitude of people, on the third December, 

1448. 

“ So, noble lady, that is all I can tell you about 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


Ill 


the church and the precious relics that you will have 
the happiness of visiting to-morrow.” 

4 4 Cornebleu ! ” vociferated the Marquis, rapping 
on the table with the handle of his knife, 44 it makes 
my blood boil to hear of these States-General and 
these Parliaments, a set of brawlers and blockheads. 
And alone against them all His Majesty the King 
of France, whom they seek to thwart in every con¬ 
ceivable way. But he has not acted once as he 
should have done. I mean going in to their con¬ 
claves, booted, spurred, and whip in hand.” 

44 All historians do not agree in thinking such con¬ 
duct praiseworthy on the part of a king; for after all, 
Monsieur, after all, my dear Marquis, parliamentary 
government is—” 

44 A government of blockheads ! ” cried the Mar¬ 
quis, 44 a government of attorneys, lawyers, money- 
grabbers, and dice-players. Instead of disputing with 
such scoundrels, who have done more harm to the 
Kingdom of the Lilies than the swarms of locusts do 
to your Camargue, His Majesty should have said to 
them, once for all: 4 I am the State.’ ” 

44 Still,” objected the Commander, passing his hand 
through the artistically-arranged ringlets of his short 
white wig, 44 history tells us—” 

44 History tells us,” interrupted the irascible gen¬ 
tleman, 44 that when France was in danger Louis 
XIV. said: 4 I and my nobility will mount our horses, 
and save the kingdom.’ And he did save it, as he 


I 12 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


had promised, sword in hand and spur on heel, which 
would not have been the case, if instead of his no¬ 
bility, whose blood has dyed the banners of France, 
he had appealed to those babblers in spectacles, with 
their big portfolios, who can only fight with the 
tongue or ride on benches.” 

“ Our good and venerated sovereign does not sec 
things as you do, my dear Marquis,” said Madame, 
gently; “ in his opinion the title of Father of the 
People is above all others, and, that he may the 
better know the wants and wishes of his children, 
he seeks light from the representatives of the three 
orders.” 

“ This light, Madame, is an incendiary torch ; noth¬ 
ing else. France does not gain by it, and the king 
will lose his crown. Remember what I tell you. 
Charles I. of England had the best intentions; he 
confided in his Parliament, and placed his power in 
their hands. What happened ? When the king was 
nothing, the Parliament, his dear Parliament, was 
everything, and took the opportunity to cut off the 
king’s head.” 

“It is to be hoped that the future States-General 
will not go as far as that.” 

“ Cornebleu ! I do not know about that. You say, 
hope; I say, prevent: it is the more prudent plan.” 

“ As we have finished, we may as well go into the 
drawing-room for our coffee,” said Madame, who 
feared that the discussion was growing too warm. 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


113 

Though very excitable, M. de Blesignan was none 
the less a well-bred man. He rose at once, and 
offered his hand to Madame, whom he gallantly es¬ 
corted to her place in the drawing-room, excusing 
himself, as they went, for his too great warmth. 

Unfortunately, it was not only at the Chateau 
Rouge that the acts of the government were discussed 
with acrimony: now it was the somewhat feeble and 
hesitating policy of Louis XVI., or again the bitter¬ 
ness with which the opponents of royalty tore not 
only the ministry but the King and Queen to pieces. 
Against these victims of a future revolution arose 
from every side a storm of squibs, libels, caricatures, 
and calumnious pamphlets. 

“ It began with songs, but will end with cannon,” 
said Beaumarchais. 

This was in 1788, and Louis XVI. had been already 
fourteen years upon the throne. He had not desired 
royalty. A secret presentiment had seemed to warn 
him that power was an abyss which was to engulf 
him. Marie-Antoinette, his wife, the daughter of the 
immortal Empress Maria Theresa, also dreaded it. 

When in 1774 news was brought to this couple, 
born for good but predestined to suffering and mis¬ 
fortune, of the death of Louis XV., they both fell 
on their knees, crying out: 

44 My God, protect us, direct us: we are too young. 

The reign of the new sovereign was inaugurated by 
a series of benefits to the people. Within a few 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


114 

years Louis had established in Paris the Mont-de- 
Pi6te * and a caisse d' escompte\ which prevented all 
danger of a panic; secured the payment of the mu¬ 
nicipal taxes; replaced the corvee or contribution in 
forced labor of the feudal times by a pecuniary sti¬ 
pend; abolished in Franche-Comte the last remnants 
of territorial servitude; erased from the civil code 
such traces of barbarism as the previous question and 
the torture; renounced the onerous right of the joyenx 
avtnement;% re-established the Parliaments which the 
nation demanded; called into power the men chosen 
by public opinion; and aided America in its struggle 
against England. What more could he do ? 

So much did he love his people, whom he called 
his lambs, that when, during a severe winter, the 
courtiers begged him to try sleighing as an amuse¬ 
ment, he replied: “ Those are the only sleighs which 
please me,” pointing, as he spoke, to the heavy carts 
loaded with wood bought with his own money, to be 
distributed among the poor. 

It was this same king who said to his ministers, 
when urged to sign a warrant for the punishment of 
the mutineers: “ Let us begin, gentlemen, by exam- 


* The famous loan-bank in Paris for the relief of the people, 
f Discount-bank. 

\ Besides the ordinary seignorial payments, the king was en¬ 
titled, on his accession, to the right of joyeux avenement, for 
confirming in their appointments all officers depending directly 
on the crown. 



LES SAINTES MARIES. 


IJ 5 

ining our own conduct, to see whether in these sad 
events there has not been some fault on our side.” 

Marie-Antoinette, by her exquisite kindliness, 
proved herself worthy of the King. On her arrival in 
France, her beauty had won all hearts; a charming 
saying of hers had preceded her at the court and pre¬ 
possessed every one in her favor. Her royal mother 
once asked her over which country she would prefer 
to reign. “Over France,” she answered, “which 
was governed by Henri IV. and Louis XIV.; for 
the example of the one teaches us the beautiful, and 
that of the other the good.” 

As Louis XVI. had renounced the right of the 
joyeux avenement , so the Queen renounced that of 
the ceinture .* She had a share in all his charities, 
and gave such abundant alms that the poor, whom 
she had assisted with an exquisite grace and unweary¬ 
ing benevolence, raised to her in the Rue St. Honore, 
during a severe winter, a pyramid of snow bearing 
this inscription, composed by some contemporary 
writer: 

“ Reine dont la beaute surpasse lcs appas, 

Pres d’un roi bienfaisant occupe ici la place; 

Si ce monument frele est de neige et de glace, 

Nos coeurs pour toi ne le sont pas.” f 

* Queen’s Girdle, a tax imposed upon all goods which came 
into Paris by the Seine. 

f “ Queen whose beauties surpass all charms, 

Occupying a place here beside a gen’rous king, 

If this frail monument be of snow and ice, 

Such are not our hearts towards thee.” 



T T6 LES SAINTES MARIES. 

But the veneration of the people for these sover¬ 
eigns quickly passed away, and respect was changed 
to ridicule. Voltaire, who was still living, had taught 
the new generation to mock at and to drag in the 
mire all that had once been sacred in France. The 
revolutionary spirit, which proceeds as naturally from 
atheistical philosophy as death from the poison of 
a venomous snake, combined with the criminal levity 
and thoughtless frivolity of certain pamphleteers to 
discredit the government. They began by singing 
songs against the King and Queen, and to songs and 
caricatures succeeded the vilest calumnies. Bred in 
a court noted for its simplicity, Marie-Antoinette, 
on coming to France, was at first opposed to all 
tedious formalities, and made her own beauty her sole 
adornment. This did not satisfy a court accustomed 
to luxury and extravagance. A celebrated jeweler 
was sent to her, who deplored the decline of his 
trade in France; in her simplicity, the young Queen 
fell into the snare and bought diamonds from him. 
Then came manufacturers from Lyons with all their 
various stuffs. She thought herself obliged to wear 
sumptuous garments. The pamphlets at once took 
up the hue and cry, and exclaimed with feigned in¬ 
dignation that VAutrichienne (the Austrian) was in¬ 
sulting the public misery and mining France. They 
declared that she had created a new ministry in 
France, in favor of Madame Bertin, her dressmaker. 

These false accusations drew the first tears from 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


117 

the young Queen’s eyes. She had arrayed herself 
thus merely through kindness of heart. In 1794 she 
sold her diamonds to purchase wheat for the poor, 
appeared everywhere in the most simple costumes, 
and a wheel of her carriage having come off as she 
was driving to the opera, she took an ordinary cab 
and continued her way. 

Immediately there was an outcry upon her neglect 
of decorum and contempt for etiquette; the Queen, 
it was declared, by acting thus had set her ladies an 
example of bad taste, and the balladists published 
these insolent verses, which were affixed to walls in 
the most public places: 

“ Petite reine de vingt ans, 

Vous qui traitez si mal les gens, 

Vous repasserez la barriSre,” etc.* 

Matters grew worse when, disgusted with the cour¬ 
tiers who, under a semblance of false respect, spied 
upon her actions to turn her into ridicule, she tried 
to create for herself an intimate circle where she 
might be loved and appreciated for herself alone. 

Ridicule was then succeeded by the most cowardly 
calumnies; libels were circulated reflecting upon her 
character; the famous affair of the necklace, which 
was associated with the name of the Queen, who had 
no knowledge whatever of the matter, obtained a 
deplorable notoriety. The most innocent amuse- 

* “ Little queen of twenty years, 

You who treat so badly your peers, 

You will be sent over the frontiers,” etc. 



LES SAINTES MARIES. 


118 

ments of this unfortunate princess were made an 
occasion for scandal. 

Tired of the splendors of Versailles, she loved to 
retire to Trianon, a pavilion close by the park, of 
which Louis had made her a present. 

There, free at last, clad in a gown of white percale, 
with a gauze kerchief and a simple straw hat, she 
loved to watch the milking of the cows, or to fish in 
the lake, in company with the Princess de Lamballe 
and the Countess de Polignac. Surely there could 
be no more innocent amusement. Yet it was suffi¬ 
cient to raise the cry that the abomination of deso¬ 
lation had come. The Austrian had hidden herself 
there to plot against France; the groves and the pa¬ 
vilion were said to be the scene of the most abomina¬ 
ble orgies, and so on. 

Poor Queen! Providence prepared her for mar¬ 
tyrdom by suffering. 

Nor was the King more fortunate. Every act of 
his was made a reproach against him. He only de¬ 
sired the happiness of his subjects; he was simple, 
generous, inspired by the purest motives. It seemed 
to be his destiny that his best actions should be 
represented as crimes, and he had reason to feel'the 
cruel truth uttered by the virtuous Malesherbes: 

“ That extreme sensibility, that tender humanity, 
and all the qualities which ordinarily make the best 
kings, become in times of revolution as bad as, and 
in their consequences even more fatal than, vices.” 


LES SAINTES MARIES. 


119 

France seemed seized with a vertigo. The Revo¬ 
lution, which was the outcome of disorder and im¬ 
piety, was advancing with giant strides before those 
who were to be its first victims had heard the first 
rumblings of the storm. Moreover, many nobles, 
merchants, and even some priests, carried away by 
love of novelty, indifference, apathy, or that they 
might not run any risk, favored its progress, and con¬ 
sidered as obstinate or violent the more farseeing men 
who would have combated it energetically from the 
beginning. 

Such was the state of France in 1788. 


120 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE PILGRIMAGE, 


HAT evening they all separated earfy, for M. de 



1 Forton prudently reminded them that if they 
would avoid the burning heat of the day they must 
set out at dawn, or, to make use of his own more 
poetic expression borrowed from Fenelon and the 
poets of the golden age, “ before the dawn with rosy 
fingers opened the gates of the east to the horses of 
Phoebus.” 

Thanks to this precaution, they were all ready when, 
at half-past three in the morning, Marius came to in¬ 
form the gentlemen, and Ther£sine the ladies, that 
the horses and the carriage were waiting in the court. 
In a quarter of an hour Jean-de-Dieu cracked his 
whip as a signal of departure for the whole caravan. 

Wrapped in a hooded cloak like that of Germaine, 
Renee led the way between Frederic and Germaine, 
mounted on those small horses peculiar to the coun¬ 
try, with the massive head but delicate and nervous 
legs. They *e as gentle as indefatigable. They 
grow up unrestrained in the open air. They are the 
direct descendants of the Arab horses brought into 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


I 2 I 


Camargue by the Saracens. Just behind this advance- 
guard came the carriage, containing Madame, the 
Marquis de Blesignan, and the Abbe Boucarut. The 
latter, absorbed in reciting his breviary, left his im¬ 
petuous neighbor, who was happily somewhat calmed 
after his night’s rest, to prelude by an agricultural 
dissertation with the Commander, still faithful to his 
role of attendant squire, a stormy discussion upon 
political questions. 

A cariole with three horses brought all the house 
people except Bernard, who was kept at home by his 
rheumatism. This was under the special guidance of 
Theresine, who, having given up her pony to Ren6e, 
confined herself to the humble but useful occupation 
of driver. She also kept an eye upon the provisions 
which, with her usual happy forethought, she had 
packed in large canastelles (baskets). 

Gun on shoulder, and a colored handkerchief tied 
carelessly around his neck, Marius followed with half 
a dozen guardians armed with spears and proceeding 
in picturesque disorder. 

The weather was splendid but cold; some light 
fleecy clouds floated through the heavens, growing 
tinged with rose as they approached that point upon 
the horizon where, unfolding gradually before the 
still invisible sun, was the mantle of purple, fringed 
with gold, which the morn spreads beneath his feet. 

On the Valcares side—for the cavalcade pursued 
its way along its reed-crowned banks—a thick gray 


I 22 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


mist rolled softly up from the dull and sleeping waters; 
that is to say, on the other side, over all the plain, 
glided rather than floated a half-transparent haze, 
while the dew embroidered the reeds and rushes with 
pearls fallen from the jewel-case of the night. These 
pearly drops likewise attached themselves to the cloth¬ 
ing or to the beards of our travellers, no less than to 
the manes of their horses. 

The pilgrims had taken various precautions to 
counteract the injurious effects of this mist which 
always precedes the sun. They had each drunk a cup 
of black coffee or a small glass of brandy before setting 
out, and were provided with thick cloaks. Besides, all 
except the guardians, who were long accustomed to 
breathe these malarial vapors, drew a corner of their 
cloak over their mouth. 

Warned in advance by her friend, Mile. deBlesignan 
imitated her companion, and, half veiling her face like 
the Arab woman, contented herself with observing 
the singular effects produced by the rising sun on this 
landscape half effaced by the mist. The mist, far 
from being dispelled, grew thicker and thicker as the 
eastern sky became redder and redder. 

The profound silence which reigned over the plain 
heightened the effect of this scene, to which the very 
vagueness of the objects lent a certain weirdness. 

From time to time the neighing of a horse, or the 
rustle of the bulrushes, from amongst which a wild 
duck, frightened by the unexpected approach of the 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


I2 3 


horses, fled with a great flapping of wings, alone broke 
in upon the stillness. 

The eye had no more occupation than the ear. 
The habitations were sparsely scattered along the banks 
of the Valcares; sometimes they were merely cabins, 
appearing ever and anon dimly through the mist, or 
vanishing in its greater thickness; the day itself had 
a sort of twilight look, something weird and unreal. 

Ail at once a great light burst upon the landscape, 
and the sun appeared like a vast globe of fire, not 
now on the mountain-heights, but close to the ground, 
spreading a golden veil over the whole plain at once, 
and sending afar the shadows of the riders, unnaturally 
elongated. Never had Renee seen such a sunrise: it 
filled her with amazement. The wand of a magician 
could have produced nothing rarer or more magical 
than this sudden awakening of nature; the whole 
landscape was illumined at once ; the mist turned from 
gray to brilliant white, and seemed to shrink as if com¬ 
pressed by a superior force. 

Yet it grew denser and more dense, the ground, 
as far as eye could reach, was apparently covered with 
snow; above and beyond the mist the air was of an 
extreme purity and of almost incredible transparency. 
Above it was summer, below it was winter. The 
struggle did not last long; the artificial snow vanished 
in the sand; it resisted longer over the water; but 
at last the sun triumphed; the remnant of the thick 
veil, rent into a thousand pieces, hung here and there 


124 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


over the stream upon its crown of reeds, forming as 
it were an irregularly-carved frame to the waters, 
which had become all at once blue and sparkling. 
Then, under the ardor of its rays, the whole mist was 
condensed into drops, which, each reflecting the light, 
changed into precious stones, emeralds, diamonds, 
sapphires, or rubies, glittering out from among the 
verdure. It was a general illumination. 

All nature awoke at the same moment. In an 
instant the air was full of joyous sounds : the neighing 
of horses saluting the rising of the sun; the lowing of 
the bulls lying here and there along the roubine; the 
tinkling of cow-bells; the hoarse notes of the guardi¬ 
ans’ call; the silvery trilling of the lark borne on the 
morning breeze; the shrill whistle of the water- 
fowl in the marshes, and the distant bellowing of the 
herds. Earth, air, and water seemed peopled as if by 
enchantment; flocks of ducks plunged into the lake, 
the surface of which was already disturbed by the 
dipping of the wings of black swallows and white gulls; 
the partridges ran about in the plain, whence flew 
flamingoes and herons, dislodged from the sedges by 
troops of cattle with tapering horns; on the distant 
horizon galloped, with tail and mane in the breeze, 
herds of young horses, that, evidently distrustful, 
sniffed the air and pursued their mad course, raising a 
cloud of dust; the heaven was full of birds, the air of 
mosquitoes; clouds of locusts arose out. of the sand 
under the horses’ feet. 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


T2 5 


‘ Now we may throw aside our cloaks and converse 
at our ease/’ said Germaine, throwing off her hood. 
Renee asked nothing better: there were so many 
wonderful things to see. They came just then to the 
cabin of the Masques, close to a vast bank of reeds, 
the greenness of which contrasted well with the snowy 
whiteness of the Sansouire; twenty or thirty bulls 
were carelessly stretched upon the ground or browsing 
peaceably, in the marsh close to the shore. On the 
approach of the horses they raised their heads, and 
one of them advanced, bellowing. Mile, de Blesignan, 
who was not accustomed to such encounters, felt the 
presence of this black bulk more than alarming. 

“ Is it safe to pass them?” she said, looking at 
F rederic. 

Germaine laughed, and, urging her pony to a gallop, 
made straight at the threatening beast, which seemed 
as if barring the passage. 

“ My God ! ” cried Renee, turning pale, “Germaine 
will be hurt.” 

But there was no reason to fear. Intimidated by 
the approach of the intrepid rider, the bull turned 
away, and trotted heavily back into the marsh. 

“You see there is not so much danger,” said 
Germaine, returning; “our bulls when in troops 
never attack, and will hardly defend themselves. 
The only danger is when one meets a single bull 
escaped from the herd. Solitude makes them fierce; 
fortunately that does not often happen, only when 


126 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


the bulls are changing pasture and one is left be¬ 
hind. Even in that case he is usually very quickly 
found.” 

“To find him would be one thing,” said Renee, 
“and to bring him back another.” 

“There is nothing easier,” said Frederic. “Do 
you see? yonder a guardian is galloping about with 
his spear.” 

“I see him very well; I thought the bull was 
chasing him.” 

“Following him is the more correct expression. 
That bull, as you call him, is a tamed ox, who has 
become a tamer, or dondaire, as they express it here, 
in his turn. He wears a bell on his neck. If one of 
the herd strays, the guardian goes after him, accom¬ 
panied by this tamer, the tinkling of whose bell 
suffices to bring back the most wicked and undis¬ 
ciplined bull to a sense of duty. No sooner does the 
sound of the bell fall upon the ear of the fugitive 
than he hastens to place himself beside the dondaire , 
and is brought back by him without making the least 
resistance.” 

“But suppose he took it into his head to make 
some resistance?” asked Renee, doubtfully. 

“The guardian would punish him with his spear, 
and if necessary the tamed bull would let him feel the 
point of his horns. Sometimes, however, the guar¬ 
dian disdains this useful auxiliary, and, anxious to 
make a name among his comrades, confronts the bull 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


127 


alone, struggles with him, throws him down, and then 
brings him back, abashed and humiliated, to his 
herd. ” 

“A man fight a bull and bring him back alone! ” 
cried Renee. “Ah, in spite of all the extraordinary 
things I have seen here, I believe that in this matter 
you are imposing upon my credulity.” 

“Not in the least, my dear,” said Germaine; 
“and perhaps in a day or two I may be able to show 
you not one but several duels of this sort, and you 
shall see that of the two adversaries the man is always 
the stronger and more adroit.” 

“ What sort of men are these guardians?” 

“You have already made the acquaintance of some 
ol them,” said Germaine. “ Marius, our overseer, 
was a guardian for several years. Only, they must 
be trained to the work young; they must train their 
bodies till they are steeled against fatigue, hunger, and 
cold; they must avoid all intemperance, and their 
souls must be devoid of all fear. On these conditions 
they become kings of Camargue, for, though we 
inhabit it, the bull-drivers are really its masters; 
their sceptre is the trident of iron; their palace a 
canvas tent, wherein they sleep on the bare ground; 
their throne a wild horse; their crown a handkerchief 
knotted around their forehead; their royal mantle a 
blouse of leather or sheepskin? their subjects the 
black herd, which tremble before them, obey their 
voices, and rush after them like an avalanche when 


128 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


they give the shrill signal of departure and urge their 
ponies to a gallop, or stop at once when commanded.” 

Conversing thus, Germaine, who was the impro¬ 
vised guide of the expedition, was still following the 
river road, when Marius came galloping up to the 
head of the caravan. 

“The Commander sent me to tell you to turn to 
the right,” said he, addressing Germaine ; “ the water 
is high, and the carriage can never pass through the 
rice-plantations of Frignan.” 

“ Are you sure? ” asked Frederic. 

“Perfectly sure, Monsieur; Esperit, the guardian 
from Sylvereal, who crossed there yesterday even¬ 
ing, declares that even on horseback one can scarcely 
pass through it.” 

“ That is really too bad,” said Frederic, “ for mid¬ 
way there I intended to show you some antiquities 
which, I am sure, would have interested you very 
much.” 

“ There are antiquities here, then? ” 

“Yes, Roman ruins, half submerged now by the 
stream, which has grown considerably since that 
epoch.” 

“So the Romans came into this country? ” 

“Yes, they not only came, but settled here for 
some time; it is to them, if we may credit a learned 
dissertation of my uncle the Commander’s, that our 
island owes its name of Camargue.” 

“ I would never have supposed so.” 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


129 


‘‘And yet it is certain, always accepting the au¬ 
thority of my honored uncle, for I never take the 
responsibility of these assertions even though they be 
supported by academicians and other learned people 
on our customs or derivation.” 

“Give me your etymology; you know I have a 
weakness for Latin.” 

“Well, here it is. A certain Marius, a Roman 
general, came, no one knows precisely why or where¬ 
fore, to spend some time among the marshes with a 
legion, who soon—but that is easily understood—got 
tired of the place, and mutinied to be taken away 
from it; but Caius Marius, who treated his soldiers 
much as the guardians treat their bulls, irritated by 
the insubordination of his legion, determined to 
punish their rebellion. Instead of acceding to their 
demands he set them to dig ditches, to remove the 
sand, to open canals. In this way he turned the 
whole region topsy-turvy; so that the island, which 
had been theretofore known as the Stecade, took the 
name of the field of Caius Marius, in Latin Caii Marii 
ager , in French Camargue .” 

“ So you see Latin is useful sometimes.” 

“ Oh, so seldom ! ” 

“ In this case it gives us a very curious etymology.’ 

“ I would rather it pointed out the way we should 
take just now, for I see that my sister is as much puz 
zled as I am.’ 

“If Monsieur wishes,” said Marius, “I will send 


130 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


Trupheme to lead the way as far as the pasture of la 
Trinite, from which we can see the Mas Brim" 

“Yes, send him, or we shall never get on.” 

Marius rode back and sent one of the guardians for¬ 
ward. He was a fresh-complexioned, sun-burned lad, 
who managed his half-wild horse like a centaur, and 
galloped on in advance of the caravan. 

“Do you know the road well?” asked Germaine 
as this individual passed her. 

The guardian replied by a laugh which was more 
like a growl, and, pointing to a distant speck upon the 
horizon, which his eyes alone could discover, set off at 
once. 

In less than an hour after they were at the Mas , 
where they stopped a few minutes to let their horses 
take breath. From this time forward their way was 
clear; they followed the road from Arles to les Saintes, 
which was bordered by a sinuous line of trees, accom¬ 
panying the capricious windings of the second branch 
of the Rhone, just before the spot where it throws 
itself into the sea, close by the Saintes-Maries. 

“Are you not fatigued, my dear,” inquired Ma¬ 
dame of Renee, “between the heat and the mosqui¬ 
toes ? ” 

“ Really, Madame, I never even thought of them,” 
said Renee; “my eyes are so busy and so delighted 
with all that they see.” 

“Would you not rather get into the carriage for the 
rest of the journey ? ” 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


131 

“Than!: you,” said Mile, de Blesignan, laughing, 
“but I want to prove to my charming Germaine that 
if I am not of Camargue I deserve to be.” 

“ The more so that we are just touching again upon 
its rich border,” said the Commander, well pleased to 
refer again to his comparison between the river road 
and a piece of cloth, and who had found means, in 
less than three phrases, to frame three compliments. 

The abbe and the Marquis took no part in the con¬ 
versation, being both absorbed in a discussion on the 
merits and demerits of the States-General. 

At this moment, we must confess, they would have 
been better employed in observing the picturesque 
view presented by the court and the little meadow 
surrounding the farm, which was full of vehicles of 
every kind, of horses, and of pilgrims from all parts 
proceeding to the Saintes-Maries. As far as the eye 
could reach the road was covered with them ; there was 
a perfect stream of carriages. 

After half an hour’s halt the caravan from the Mas 
Rouge set out again, or rather let itself be carried 
along by the torrent. Between this part of the jour¬ 
ney and that which had preceded it there could not be 
a greater contrast. The banks of the Rhone were 
exceptionally green, gay, fertile, and luxuriant. Mile, 
de Blesignan having remarked this, the Commander 
gallantly replied: 

“I am not surprised, charming lady, that all the 
flowers of the season, apprised of the arrival of their 


i3 2 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


queen, should have assembled here to see her pass, 
while their costumer, Spring, has exhausted every 
color at her disposal to clothe them in their festal 
garb.” 

Yet the desert was not far off* but the splendid cur¬ 
tain which concealed it was so thick that while passing 
through this mass of foliage the illusion was fully pre¬ 
served. The Rhone itself, unaccustomed to these 
carnivals of nature, and usually so hurried in its course, 
seemed to linger in this charming region. Not only 
did it flow as slowly as possible, but it appeared to 
bend backwards, and shift and eddy, returning as if it 
had forgotten something, and needing only a crevice 
in the bank as an excuse to fall asleep under the trees 
or force its way into the meadows. 

Many beautiful dwellings are sheltered by these 
trees; and there are fields of maize with large, shining 
leaves, great open spaces where the wheat springs up 
thickly as in the plains of la Beauce, half submerged 
rice-fields, tangled copses, fragments of virgin forests 
whence arise, frightened by the cracking of the whips, 
green woodpeckers and white turtle-doves, water-fowl 
running along the strand, ducks paddling among the 
rushes, blackbirds whistling in the shrubbery, and 
nightingales singing in these verdant bowers. 

“What a charming landscape!” said Renee to 
Frederic. “Watteau has never painted anything 
more beautiful, and I doubt if even the groves of 
Versailles present such perfect vistas.” 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


133 


“You should come and compare them,” said 
Frederic. “ I shall be the happiest of men if you will 
allow me to do the honors.” 

“I am convinced you would do them to perfec¬ 
tion,” said Renee; “ but the idea of meeting all that 
brilliant multitude they call the court takes away my 
relish for it. A park may be very beautiful; but I 
prefer nature in its simplicity.” 

“You would not find it as pastoral as this, cer¬ 
tainly, but in exchange you would have an opportu¬ 
nity of studying the fashions, which is seldom given us 
in the provinces.” 

“Very fortunately; for if certain prints that come 
from Paris are correct, they are most exaggerated.” 

“ Yet it is a science; and the fine ladies who make 
a study of it declare that it is as difficult as Latin.” 

“More difficult,” said Germaine, “since there are 
no less than two hundred and fifty ways of trimming a 
dress; and before ordering one we have to consider 
the different effects produced by the various styles, 
catalogued under the pretentious names of ‘ prefer¬ 
ence/ ‘vapors,’ ‘ sweet smiles,’ ‘agitation,’ ‘regret,’ 
‘ indiscreet murmurs,’ ‘ great reputation,’ ‘ marked 
desire,’ and so on.” 

“It is just as embarrassing,” said Ren£e, “to 
choose something for your head from bonnets en pouf ‘ 
a la victoire , au lever de la reine, besides the Gabrielle 
de Vergy, the Eurydice, the dog couchant , the Eng¬ 
lish Park, the Windmill, the Frigate Juno, etc., etc.” 


134 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


“Oh, I implore you, dear, enough! I would 
rather wear no bonnet at all,” said Germaine. 

“Mademoiselle Doth6, a fashionable Parisian, was 
not of my sister’s opinion,” said Frederic. “The 
extreme good taste of her costume at the opera won 
the applause of our public journals and the admiration 
of all the beau monde of the capital.” 

“It is a pity I do not know what her costume 
was,” laughed Germaine, “ or I might have copied it 
for our next ball at Arles, the Paris of Camargue.” 

“I remember enough of it to astonish the provin¬ 
cial fashionables,” said Frederic, “and in proof that I 
do, listen: 

“Mile. Dothe wore a gown of ‘stifled sighs,’ 
trimmed with ‘vain regrets;’ down the front was a 
band of ‘ perfect candor,’ edged with ‘ imprudent 
murmurs,’ ribbons of ‘ marked attention :’ shoes of the 
4 Queen’s hair,’ embroidered with diamonds in ‘ per¬ 
fidious blows’ and a ‘ come-and-see ’ in emeralds; 
her hair was curled a la ‘ sustained sentiment,’ with a 
bonnet of ‘ secure conquest,’ trimmed with ‘ flying 
plumes ’ and ribbons of the ‘ melancholy eyes ’ shade ; 
she wore on her neck a ‘ cat ’ of * upstart ’ color; on 
her shoulders a ‘ Medicis ’ set in 4 good breeding;’ 
and in her hands a muff of ‘ momentary agitation. ’ ”* 

“How absurd!” said Renee, with a melancholy 


* All this extravagance of fashion is taken from the memoirs 
and fashion journals of that era. (See “ Histoire du Costume en 
France.”)— Author's Note. 



THE PILGRIMAGE. 


135 


smile. “ Can they seriously occupy themselves with 
such follies?” 

“ Follies which have ruined many a family,” said 
Germaine, “for certainly such costumes as these 
represent a modest fortune. So true is it, that the 
fashionables, unable to pay their dressmaking bills, are, 
like Madame de Maintenon, who paid hers with a life- 
interest of six hundred pounds, forced to compound 
with their creditors.” 

“And yet you would like me to visit a court 
which gives so bad an example,” said Renee. 

“ The court is much less to blame than the mer¬ 
chant classes,” said Frederic, “especially since Her 
Majesty the Queen, who at first was induced to dress 
magnificently for the sake of encouraging industry, 
saw her error and returned to her former simplicity. 
As for the King, every one knows he is most simple 
in his tastes.” 

“When I spoke of the court,” said Ren£e, “I 
meant neither the King nor the Queen. I love and 
respect them far too much to suspect them of such 
absurdities.” 

“ In any case the Queen needs no magnificent 
costume to eclipse all the women about her,” said 
Frederic, enthusiastically. “ Her natural grace and 
her beauty, full of a rare distinction, are quite sufficient 
of themselves.” 

“ I often heard my father rave about her beauty, 
which dazzled all France upon her arrival. I have 


i 3 6 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


heard that she is tall and straight, with a most queenly 
bearing; but the portraits I have seen of her do not 
resemble each other in the least. You, who see her 
every day and who have had ample opportunity of 
observing her, tell me just what she is like.” 

“Her many sorrows have taken something from 
her first freshness,” said Frederic, “ but she is still 
marvellously beautiful. The majesty of her carriage 
does not detract in the least from the grace of her 
movements. The woman is always perceptible in the 
queen, and goodness of heart under regal dignity. 
Her fair hair is long and silky, her forehead high and 
slightly arched, her eyes blue and clear as a northern 
sky or the waters of the Danube, her nose aquiline 
with well-opened and slightly-inflated nostrils, her 
teeth white, her whole countenance mobile, expressive, 
impassioned ; over all there is an indescribable bright¬ 
ness which proceeds from her eyes, from the light and 
shade of her face, and encircles it with a halo, like the 
warm haze in which float objects gilded by the sun. 
I can always bring our good and gracious Queen before 
me thus, when I close my eyes.” 

“And so you have brought her before us,” said 
Renee. “It is a charming portrait, which the 
most skilful pencil could not have made more 
vivid.” 

“ Such as it is, I am charmed that it pleases you.” 

“ It must please and delight me, because it is in 
accordance with the sentiments which I entertain for 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


137 


the royal daughter of Maria Theresa and the wife of 
our good King/’ 

“ Les Saintes ! Les Saintes !” cried Germaine, ex¬ 
tending her hand. 

“ Where? ” 

“ There, to the left/* 

“ I see nothing.” 

“Can you not distinguish upon the horizon a 
straight line, like a band of silver? ” 

“Yes, very clearly.” 

“That is the sea; now do you perceive here a 
slight eminence of a yellow or tawny color? ” 

“A little hill, with something on its summit.” 

“That something is a church; it will soon grow 
larger. Our companions are right enough; hear 
them sing: 

“ ‘ D6jzl, d6ja di grandi santo 
V6si la gleiso roussejanto, 

Dins la mar liuencho e flouquejanto 

Creisse, coum un veisseu que poujo au ribeir^s/ ” 

“What does that mean ? ” 

“ ‘ Already ! already ! the great Saints, 

We see their beauteous shrine 
In the far-off chopping sea, 

Like a vessel which sails in the brine.’ ” 

“That is very true; it produces/just such an 
effect.” 

“Listen,” said Frederic; “ Ther£sine and her 
companions are having a concert of their own.” 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


138 


“Ah, they are singing in French, which I much 
prefer, and the air is delightfully simple.” 

“So are the words; it is the song of the Jews 
when they expelled the Saints from the Orient; it is 
the beginning of a poem which comprises the whole 
legend: 

“ * Entrez, Sara, dans la nacelle, 

Lazare, Marthe et Maxamin, 

C16on, Trophime, Saturnin, 

Les trois Maries et Marcelle, 

Eutrope et Martial, Sidoine avec Joseph, 

Vous perirez dans cette nef.’ ” * 

To this stanza, sung by the women, the horsemen, 
surrounding the cart, replied, in voices more lusty 
than harmonious: 

“ Allez sans voile et sans cordage, 

Sans mat, sans ancre, sans timon, 

Sans aliment, sans aviron, 

Allez faire un triste naufrage! 

Retirez-vous d’ici, laissez-nous en repos, 

Allez crever parmi les flots ! ” f 


* “ Enter, Sara, to this ship, 

Lazarus, Martha, Maxaminius, 

Cleo, Trophimius, Saturnine, 

The three Marys and Marcella, 

Eutrope and Martial, Sidonius with Joseph, 
You shall all perish in this ship.” 

| “ Go, without cordage or without sails, 
Without helm or anchor or mast, 

Without provisions and without oars, 

Go, and be shipwrecked all. 

Depart hence, and leave us in peace, 

And be swallowed up by the waves !” 



THE PILGRIMAGE. 


139 


11 It is original and pathetic,” said Ren£e. 

“ But rather long and somewhat monotonous. 
However, we are at our destination,” said Frederic. 

They rode on for a moment longer through the 
woods, but soon the trees grew fewer and fewer, and 
the copses gave place to mere shrubbery. They at 
last found themselves, as in the morning, on the 
bare plain, but with more dust and sun than before. 
Happily Germaine had foreseen this, and sent to the 
cart for two of those broad felt hats with which the 
Provengale women shield themselves from the rays of 
a too ardent sun. 

Protected by the brim of these Arlesian hats, the two 
young girls went bravely on towards the little hill upon 
which stood the massive church with its high walls of 
a bistre color, crenellated and perforated with loop¬ 
holes, and outlined against the horizon like a fortress, 
the donjon of which was a square belfry, surmounted 
by a platform or terrace. 

At the foot of the church, irregularly grouped over 
the eminence which formed a promontory in the 
low barren plain, interspersed with lakes of salt water 
and large spots of salt, were the little square white 
houses, surrounded by a thick wall and of wholly 
African appearance. 

On the banks of the river, bordered with shrubs of 
hard and shining foliage, wandered, unrestrained, hun¬ 
dreds of white horses and black bulls, watched by 
guardians as motionless as equestrian statues, in a 


140 THE PILGRIMAGE. 

landscape scorched by a fiery sun. In this flood of 
light the plain of les Saintes resembled a mosaic most 
of all. Everything seemed as if in relief; the salt was 
of dazzling whiteness, the sand full of metallic reflec¬ 
tions, every line was clear and well defined, every 
shadow dark as a spot of ink; the green and shining 
reeds gleamed like sword-blades, and the deep blue of 
the sea formed a background for the golden strand. 

Unhappily on that day the heat was most active of 
all; it raged so much that the grasshoppers lost their 
voices, and the green lizards hid themselves in their 
holes, and even the tamarisks begged for mercy, bow¬ 
ing their heads. 

Only the Provencal pilgrims, of whom many were 
making the journey on foot, continued to advance 
bravely through the burning sand, and, in spite of the 
stifling dust which enveloped them, sang psalms or 
hymns at the top of their voices. The sight of the 
church towards which, full of faith, they were direct¬ 
ing their steps renewed for them the miracle accom¬ 
plished of old in favor of the Jewish children in the 
fiery furnace. 

However, the approach to the town, wherein the 
bells began to ring, revived the drooping spirits of the 
horses, and the little caravan reached the hill. The 
pilgrims were just in time; the ceremony was about 
to commence. 

From all the tents erected around the walls, from 
all the canvas-covered carts which formed upon the 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


141 

shore or in the adjoining lands so many temporary 
dwellings, now came forth a noisy, motley crowd: 
peasants from Cevennes in broad-brimmed hats and 
drugget or corduroy coats; smart Arlesians, with the 
rich ribbons which confined their black hair waving in 
the breeze; women from Aigues-Mortes in black bon¬ 
nets faced with white; salt-makers with sober-colored 
garments and pale faces; farmers from the neighbor¬ 
hood of Nismes; gypsies with curly black hair and 
bright eyes, overloaded with tinsel, rings, chains, neck¬ 
laces, and tawdry finery ; old men and children, crippled, 
fever-stricken, feeble, the sick and the well—a human 
swarm, crowding towards the steep path which led to 
the church, and forming a compact .multitude which 
ascended with a confused noise to the door of the 
ancient edifice. 

Having alighted from their carts, carriage, or horses, 
which the guardians now ranged along the walls, the 
inhabitants of the Chateau Rouge and their guests fol¬ 
lowed the tide of pilgrims, who sang as they went: 

“ Dans un bateau sans cordage 
Au naufrage, 

On vous exposa soudain; 

Mais de Dieu la Providence, 

En Provence, 

Vous fit trouver le chemin! ” * 

* “ In a vessel without cordage 
To shipwreck 

Were ye suddenly exposed, 

But the providence of God 
Into Provence 
Showed you the way.” 



142 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


“ Take my arm, and hold it fast,” said Germaine to 
Renee; “you are perfectly safe between me and my 
brother. Theresine and Zounet have gone on in front 
to clear the way for us; and my mother has a guard 
of honor who will take good care of her.” 

“ Are you not afraid,” said Ren£e to Frederic, “ that 
we shall be suffocated in this crowd?” 

“No,” answered he, “ but I have one piece of ad¬ 
vice to give you. Open your eyes and close your ears.” 

This suggestion was indeed a practical one. 

The spectacle offered by the ascent at the moment 
of the opening of the church was curious, but the noise 
which accompanies it was certainly deafening. The 
road, over which was stretched an awning, was adorned 
with more or less primitive images, hung by cords, to 
which were suspended innumerable pairs of beads. 
This road was in reality a great canal, through which 
flowed the noisiest and most motley multitude imagi¬ 
nable. Peddlers cried their wares, pilgrims sang, beg¬ 
gars asked for charity, drunkards quarrelled, dogs 
barked; booth-tenders loudly advertised fresh cool 
water, medals, lotteries; while the hymns, all shouted 
in different keys, made an indescribable Bedlam. 

The square before the church was a centre of anima¬ 
tion. It had been invaded the previous day by droves 
of itinerant venders, who displayed in their stalls all 
manner of pious objects, mock jewelrjq and the shop¬ 
worn stock, which had fallen lower and lower till it 
had reached this remote corner of Camargue, where it 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


143 


still excited the admiration of the daughter of a guar¬ 
dian or salt-worker and led her into temptation. 

The lateral door opens upon the road. It is guarded 
by two stone lions of antique and venerable carving, 
corroded by saltpetre, which have the sole defect of 
not having preserved their ancient form. The pilgrims 
crowded into this narrow entrance, to be half suffocated 
in the aisle, which was too small for its innumerable 
visitors. But the Marcoiran family, one of the most 
ancient in Camargue, enjoyed, as patrons of the church, 
the special privilege of occupying a pew reserved for 
them in the sanctuary, and which they reached by a 
less crowded door, opening on the opposite side of the 
church. 

The young people passed round in front of the 
fa£ade and the main door to the priory. From this 
they had to proceed by a little narrow winding stair¬ 
case, which leads to their privileged pew in the chapel, 
where the exposition of relics was to take place, and, 
continuing its course, connects with the upper chapel, 
where the reliquaries are usually kept, and ends at 
length on the terrace or platform on the summit of 
the church. 

“ Would you not like, my dear child,” said Madame 
to Renee, “to come and rest half an hour in the 
priory, till it is time for the relics to be brought down ? ” 

“If Ren£e is not too tired,” said Germaine, “it 
would be better for her, perhaps, to come up and see 
the oratory before the relics are taken away.” 


144 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


“The staircase is so narrow, and the chapel so full 
of people, that you will be crushed to death.” 

“ I will mount first to the assault,” said Frederic, 
“Mademoiselle and my sister will follow, Theresine 
and Marius will bring up the rear; and as there is only 
room for one at a time, the young ladies will run no 
risk.” 

“With your permission, Madame,” said the Mar¬ 
quis, “ I will bring up the rear. My friend the Com¬ 
mander assures me there is a glorious view from 
above.” 

“ It is true, my dear Marquis. If you feel so dis¬ 
posed, go up by all means, while I bring my sister to 
the priory,” said the Commander, who had no mind to 
rub his velvet riding-coat against the walls. 

The ascent commenced ; but, thanks to the politeness 
of some of the pilgrims, who, already on the stairs, 
drew back to let the young dragoon and his party pass, 
they reached the top with comparative ease. The 
interior architecture of the little oratory was almost 
completely hidden by the mass of ex-votos accumu¬ 
lated there by the piety of visitors. A dense crowd, 
extending even to the platform, pressed round the 
reliquaries placed near the inner window, which gave 
upon the church and through which they were to be 
let down; so that it was with the greatest difficulty 
that the pilgrims from the Chateau Rouge managed to 
approach. The suffocating heat of the little place 
forced them soon to beat a retreat. Fortunately the 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


1 45 


sea-breeze rising hither cooled the air on the plat¬ 
form. 

In passing round the church Renee had already re¬ 
marked its singular form, its high walls, its towers at 
each corner of the massive rectangle, its loopholes, 
and its crenellated battlements. Walking on the 
platform, which had been for the use of bowmen, and 
whence the eye lost itself wandering over the plain, 
she had a nearer view of the roof, covered with great 
stone flags as a protection against fire, and of the high 
square tower, which completed the means of defence. 

“Capital! capital!” cried M. de Blesignan. “I 
will have my chateau covered the same way. I never 
thought of it. Do you know, Renee, a shell could never 
penetrate such a breastplate as that.” 

So saying, he struck one of the stones with his cane. 

“ I am sure it could not, father.” 

“The architect who did that understood his busi¬ 
ness. Eh, what do you say, Chevalier ? ” 

“It is very strong indeed.” 

“ Very strong ? Par bleu ! extremely strong.” 

“So strong that it is more like a fortress than a 
church,” said Ren£e. 

“It is both,” said Frederic; “ a church lodged in a 
fortress, or, if you prefer it, a church clad in armor.” 

“ Which is not a canonical costume, I think.” 

“Why not? Cardinal Richelieu wore a breast¬ 
plate.” 

“Yes, but he wore his camail underneath.” 


746 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


“ The Church of les Saintes has also its distinctive 
mark,” said Germaine. “ Look upon the steeple; do 
you not see a cross ? ” 

“ Besides,” said Frederic, “ that stone ship carved 
on the arris of the roof, containing personages that are 
meant for the Marys.” 

“ Nevertheless,” said Renee, “the exterior is very 
strange. ” 

“ As for strangeness, you are only at the beginning; 
do you want to see something really odd ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Let us go down, then.” 

“ I will come back to study this system of fortifica¬ 
tion,” said the Marquis; “it seems to me very well 
planned. ” 

When they had reached the foot of the stairs, Ger¬ 
maine led the way to an enclosure with high walls. 

“ Where are we going ? ” asked Renee. 

“ To the cemetery,” answered Germaine. 

“ I warn you, Monsieur le Marquis,” said Frederic, 
“to be careful of your watch and purse.” 

Th£resine pushed the door open. Scarcely had the 
visitors crossed the threshold when they found them¬ 
selves in a species of wonderland. 

It would be impossible to give an idea of the extra¬ 
ordinary spectacle presented during these two or three 
days, every year, in this field of the dead, usually so 
peaceful. The grass, unknown upon the other por¬ 
tions of the eminence, grows thick and luxuriant here 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


147 


among the graves, and is much affected by beggars, 
cripples, and the infirm of all kinds, who come from 
great distances, not so much to pray for their cure as 
to excite the compassion of charitable souls. There 
they sleep in the open air, there they eat and drink. 
The gravestones serve them alternately as tables or 
pillows. 

This strange assembly is composed not only of beg¬ 
gars and cripples : pickpockets and dice-players mingle 
there with gypsies, of whom the tawdry women and 
half-naked children grovel in this stronghold of misery 
and vice; toothless hags, fortune-tellers with blear 
eyes and parchment skin, also congregate there; it is, 
in fact, a little world of thieves and beggars, who find 
in the pilgrimage an opportunity of plying their trade. 
Such young and distinguished visitors could not fail 
to excite their greed. They were quickly surrounded 
by beggars, some extending their hands and whining, 
others displaying their sores; they were fairly besieged 
by ragged children clinging to their garments, and in¬ 
timidated neither by the cane of the Marquis nor the 
whip of the young officer. The coins distributed by 
the young ladies only added to the confusion. Ren£e 
was frightened, and would fain have got back to the 
gate; but the circle of repulsive faces seemed to close 
in about her. The two gentlemen had to open a pas¬ 
sage for her by force. They were almost at the gate, 
when a hideous old hag, seizing Rente’s hand, whis¬ 
pered in her ear: 


148 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


“Noble lady, be generous to poor Deborah, and 
she will tell you your fortune.” 

“Let me alone,” said Renee, shuddering at her 
touch; “I do not want any lying predictions that 
proceed from the devil.” 

But, instead of letting go, the hag passed her bony 
finger over the palm of Renee’s hand. 

“You will wed a handsome gentleman, my 
darling,” said she; “a brilliant officer, who—” 

“Go away, you ugly creature!” said Renee, 
trying to draw away her hand, and frightened when 
she could not succeed in wresting it from the old 
woman’s grasp. 

“ Begone, you old witch! ” said Frederic, pushing 
the crone aside, so hastily that she fell into a new- 
made grave. 

“ Hearken, noble lady,” cried the hag, furiously 
shaking her fist, “ you will wed, not this officer, but 
Death himself upon the scaffold; and he, too, will 
come to a violent end.” 

The Queen’s Dragoon did not hear these threats, 
but they pierced Renee’s heart like a dagger. 

“ It was wrong of me to bring you here,” said 
Germaine, seeing how pale her friend looked. “Are 
you ill? ” 

“No, dear friend,” said Renee, “and lam not 
usually so easily impressed. I am really ashamed of 
my ridiculous fright, which has now passed ofi.” 

Germaine would no doubt have insisted, but at this 


I 


THE PILGRIMAGE. I49 

moment the bell rang for the last time, and she saw 
her mother and the Commander, with the prior, who 
invited them to enter, and offered them holy water. 

Fortunately there were new emotions and new 
surprises to divert Renee’s mind from the scene in the 
cemetery. Profoundly Christian, and full of tender 
and ardent piety, she could not remain unmoved by a 
spectacle which touched even the coldest natures. 
Nothing could be plainer, we might almost say more 
bare, than the church of les Saintes. It had only a 
single nave, inflanked by chapels formed by Roman 
arches of a most severe style, and adorned with 
humble ex-votos . One of the chapels marks the spot 
where once stood the oratory of the Marys, of which 
nothing remains but a fountain, or rather a well, 
almost close to the ground; near which the Abbe 
Boucarut, in surplice and stole, stood offering to the 
faithful a cup of water from the miraculous spring, 
which they drank, crossing themselves, and laid a 
modest offering on the plate placed beside the well. 

A few wooden steps led from the aisle to the 
chancel, between the double balustrade of which 
could be seen the dome of the crypt; above this was 
a semicircular apsis, forming a flat surface, decorated 
with many lights and prepared for the exposition of 
the relics. Just opposite this, in the background, 
was the seigneurial pew, beside the altar, and under 
the upper chapel where the relics are kept. Usually 
the whole place is cold, bare, deserted; but then, 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


J 50 

from the pew, Renee saw before and beneath her a 
dense multitude, so closely packed that their heads 
seemed to touch, and a whole forest of lighted tapers. 
It resembled a grain-field of which every ear was a 
flame. A profound silence had succeeded to the 
previous tumult; they awaited the coming of the 
Saints; all eyes were fixed upon the upper window, 
at which the relics, the object of all their hopes, were 
to appear. The altar was resplendent; incense 
floated upwards in long spiral curves towards the 
roof, where it was lost in a thick cloud ; every heart 
was oppressed, every breast heaved; in the silence 
the whisper of many prayers could be heard, or ever 
and anon a sigh which proceeded from the holy im¬ 
patience, inspired by faith, of a sick person who had 
come to pray for his cure. There was something 
indescribably solemn in this moment of suspense. 

All at once the window was thrown open, and the 
reliquary was first placed upon the sill, and then 
raised by a pulley, and let down slowly into the void, 
with a scarcely-perceptible movement. Supplicating 
hands were upraised in all directions; there was an 
outburst of prayers, supplications, cries, and tears: 

“ Holy Marys, pray for us! Holy Marys, cure 
my child! Holy Marys, be propitious to us! ” 

And with an indescribable manifestation of faith 
all arms were outstretched, and there was a general 
lush towards that ark of salvation which it sufficed to 
touck in order to obtain a cure. 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


1 5 I 

Renee heard no more. Bathed in tears, her head 
buried in her hands, amid the storm of hymns which 
shook the roof, and the storm of supplications which 
went up around her, she repeated : 

“Servants of God, great Saint Marys, enlighten 
me upon my vocation; give me strength to imitate 
you, and obtain for me the favor that my father may 
consent to let me, too, consecrate myself to the 
service of God.” 

She prayed long and fervently. When, at length, 
she raised her head, she found herself alone with 
Madame, who said: 

“It is time to go, my dear.” 

“Already?” cried she. 

“It is late; the others are waiting for us at the 
priory.” 

As Renee still hesitated, Madame said: 

“ The relics will remain exposed for twenty-four 
hours;, if you like, we will come back, my child.” 

“How good you are, mother!” said Renee, 
pressing her hand. 

Madame’s face brightened. 

“The saints must have worked a miracle in our 
favor,” thought she; “her father will be delighted, 
and so shall we.” 


J 5 * 


REN^E. 


CHAPTER VI. 

REN^E. 

R ENEE had been deeply touched by the won¬ 
derful scene she had just witnessed. When 
she entered the priory r Germaine remarked that her 
eyes were red with weeping; but, out of delicacy, she 
appeared not to notice, and, seeing her sad and 
thoughtful, proposed for her benefit a walk through 
the town. Renee would have refused; but as all the 
rest, including Madame de Marcoiran, seemed dis¬ 
posed to go, she felt bound to acquiesce. 

At that time, as the offices of the day were over, 
and those of the night not to commence for some 
hours, the idle crowd had dispersed noisily through 
the streets or on the square, where booths, lit up by 
tallow candles, displayed their treasures to the won¬ 
der-stricken eyes of the wives and daughters of guar¬ 
dians or salt-workers. 

Swarms of peasant women buzzed and hummed, 
and waved their broad ribbons round the stalls filled 
with tapers, statues, beads, and pictures. The young 
men, a coat thrown over one shoulder, a colored 


REN^E. 


153 


handkerchief knotted around the neck, sat about the 
taverns, or surrounded the tent, under which, to the 
discordant music of flutes and tambourines, wooden 
horses were turned. 

Around the walls the spectacle was still more pict¬ 
uresque. From the obscurity shone out bivouac-fires, 
embroidering the mantle of night with their luminous 
darts, and casting their red glare upon groups of 
fishermen and gypsies, whose attitudes, grouping, 
and picturesque costume seemed to await the pencil 
of Callot.* Renee had seen some of these dark 
children of Egypt from time to time, but she had 
never met with such multitudes of them, or in such 
garb. She remarked this to her friend. 

“ They come here in great numbers every year,” 
said Germaine; “but this time Rebecca, the Queen 
of Egypt, being dead, they have collected in unusual 
force to give her a successor.” 

“ Why here more than anywhere else? ” 

“ Because,” laughed Frederic, “ les Saintes is the 
Rheims where these black sovereigns cause them¬ 
selves to be consecrated.” 

“ Have they, then, any sort of a temple or Mecca 
here? ” asked Renee, whose curiosity was excited. 

* Jacques Callot, an artist of Lorraine, who died in 1635, was 
specially distinguished for his sketches of gypsy life. He ran 
away from his father’s house, and lived for a time among these 
bohemians, simply to study their costumes, manners, etc. He 
etched according to a process of his own, and has left many more 
engravings than paintings. 



*54 


REN^E. 


“ Their Mecca is our church, my dear,” said Ger¬ 
maine. 

“ What, they are Christians?” 

“ Not at all.” 

“Yet they are allowed into the church? ” 

“ Not into the church proper,” interrupted the 
Commander, “ but into the crypt or subterranean 
church, under the chancel, where we were, and which 
is reserved for Saint Sarah, the servant of the holy 
women, and, according to tradition, an Egyptian by 
birth.” 

“ I should like very much to be present at their 
pilgrimage,” said Ren£e; “ they must have a singular 
way of honoring their patron.” 

“ Unfortunately the election of the queen took 
place at the same time as the descent of the relics,” 
said Germaine. “ But no matter; there may be a 
good many of the more devout gypsies in the crypt 
still, and, if you like, my brother and I will take you 
down there.” 

“ And I will be delighted to make one of the 
party,” said the Commander, bowing low. 

I will be highly honored, Monsieur,” said Ren£e, 

if we are not imposing on your good-nature and in¬ 
terrupting your walk.” 

“ The honor will be mine, Mademoiselle, and I 
know my sister begins to find the air too cool and 
the mosquitoes too importunate, so that she is anxious 
to go in.” 


RENEE. 


155 


‘‘ Will not you join us, Monsieur le Marquis ? ” in¬ 
quired Germaine. 

‘ ‘ With your permission and Madame de Marcoiran’s 
leave,” said the Marquis, “ I will return with her to 
the priory, where I shall find her interesting conver¬ 
sation much more agreeable than the sight of ragged 
gypsies and the unpleasant odor they exhale.” 

The priory was quite, close to the church, and 
the company, leaving the shore, upon which the 
solemn murmur of the waves was heard, went up into 
the square. A little door opened upon a spiral stair¬ 
case on the exterior of the chancel, giving access to 
both the church and crypt. Before going down M. 
de Forton removed his two watches and his snuff¬ 
box, and prudently placed them in an inner pocket. 
Whilst the Commander was finishing his preparations 
half a dozen Egyptians arrived, each bearing a 
taper decorated with ribbons and tinsel, and of an 
unusual thickness. Their chief wore a large felt hat 
trimmed with ribbons, wide black velvet Mameluke 
trousers, and a broad red sash round his waist, in 
which was stuck a huge pair of shears such as these 
nomads use to crop their mules, and sometimes to 
fight. 

His companions, strong, dark-skinned fellows with 
black woolly hair, were the real brigands of the 
melodrama, clad in ragged velvet, with rings on 
their fingers, earrings in their ears, breastpins, and 
large buttons of carved silver on coat or waistcoat, 


RENEE. 


I5 6 

and were of no more reassuring aspect than the 
first. 

“ I would rather, ” whispered Renee to Germaine, 
“ meet these blackamoors, with their white teeth and 
sparkling eyes, in a church than in a forest.” 

“ Hum ! ” said M. de Forton, who had just finished 
taking an inventory of his valuables, “ I would not 
advise you to depend too much on these rascals’ 
respect for the sanctity of the place. To rob a Cath¬ 
olic is an act of piety for them.” 

“If a sculptor desired to make a statue of Pru¬ 
dence, I should suggest my uncle as a model,” whis¬ 
pered Frederic, offering his arm to Ren6e, to lead her 
down the dark stairs. When they had descended a 
few steps, they saw a light, which gradually increased 
till they reached the lower chapel, which was lit by a 
multitude of tapers. This crypt had somewhat the 
aspect of a prison: it was bare, without either pict¬ 
ures or ex-votos such as abounded in the upper 
chapel. There was simply an altar or table of white 
marble, rudely but curiously carved, attached to the 
wall. On one corner of the altar, around which were 
a score or so of these nomad people, who are to be 
seen everywhere but live nowhere, Frederic pointed 
out to Renee a square box or case of very humble 
appearance, in which, through thick glass and the 
mist produced by the smoke, could be seen, indis¬ 
tinctly, some linen, mingled with shapeless objects 
which might have been bones. 


RENEE. 


157 


“ Those are the pretended relics of Saint Sarah,” 
said Frederic. “ But do not the heat and the oppres¬ 
sive odor inconvenience you ? ” 

“ No; let us go on,” said Ren£e, bravely. 

This was not an easy thing to do, for a compact 
group pressed round the case, where a young woman, 
whose ebony locks fell in disorder over her shoulders, 
was holding a half-naked infant, forcing it to press its 
lips fifty times, at least, to the glass covering of the 
supposed relics. Other children were dragging them¬ 
selves about on the floor, scraping up with their nails 
the wax that had fallen from the tapers. They 
afterwards chewed it up, made it into hard balls, and 
brought it into one corner of the crypt, where the 
bony and withered hands of several hags were stretched 
out from the dusk to receive it. 

Renee observed curiously two gypsies who, as 
motionless as bronze caryatides and with nothing 
animated about them but their eyes, knelt on either 
side of the altar, each holding an immensely thick 
candle, and then turned her attention to the children 
on the floor, and asked Germaine what they were 
doing. 

“As you see,” said Germaine, in a low voice, 
“ they gather up the wax to bring it to the sorceress 
of their tribe—” 

“ The sorceress ! ” exclaimed Ren£e, with an in¬ 
voluntary shudder. “ Is she here ? ” 

“ Look over in that corner.” 


ren£e. 


158 

Renee looked, and saw, crouched in the gloom, an 
old woman whose basilisk gaze was fixed upon her. 

“ Come away! ” she said hastily; “ let us go out. 
It is too warm; I find the air oppressive.” 

“You surely are not well, dear,” said Germaine. 
“ How pale you look ! ” 

“ I am stifling,” she replied. 

Germaine and Frederic almost carried her, rather 
than accompanied her, out of the crypt. The air 
was pure; the moon shone out in a cloudless sky. 
Ren£e looked around, put her hand to her forehead, 
and sighed deeply. 

“ Mademoiselle,” said Frederic, “ I trust this is 
only a passing faintness. Is it likely to continue ?” 

“ No, no,” she said, “ I am quite well now.” 

“ What was the matter, dear Ren£e ? ” asked Ger¬ 
maine. 

“ I am almost ashamed to say that I was afraid.” 

“ Afraid of what ? ” 

“ Of that horrible sorceress, the same one we saw 
this morning. She hooked her talons, and looked 
askance at me.” 

“You need not have been afraid with me,” said 
Frederic, half-unconsciously putting his hand to his 
sword. 

He immediately uttered an indignant exclamation. 
The golden tassel of his sword-knot had disappeared; 
only a piece of the cord remained. It had evidently 
been cut by a snip of the scissors. 


RENEE. 


159 


“ It is too much!” cried he. “ And these scoun¬ 
drels shall find out that they cannot so insolently rob 
an officer of the King.” 

Just then a gypsy appeared at the door to pass out. 
Frederic cried: 

“ Go back again; no one shall pass here.” 

The man disappeared. 

“ What are you going to do ? ” asked Renee. 

“ Wait till my uncle comes up, and go down to 
give these rascals a lesson.” 

“ Alone ?” 

“ No, with this for my companion,” said he, touch¬ 
ing his sword. 

“ Oh, I implore you ! ” cried Renee, clasping her 
hands. “ There are at least fifty of them below.” 

“ Were there a hundred, I should not stop to 
count. ” 

“Be careful,” said Germaine, “or you may get 
into trouble.” 

But the young officer would hear nothing. 

“Well! what’s going on here?” said the Com¬ 
mander, in a half-jesting, half-vexed tone, as he 
appeared. “ I have been looking for you below, 
and waited as long as there was any one in the 

crypt; then, seeing that you must have left, I came 
* > 

up. 

“ What, you say there is no one in the crypt ? ” 

“ No one at all,” said the Commander. “ One of 
the gypsies who had gone out came back, and said a 


i6o 


ren£e. 


few words to the bearers of the candles offered by the 
new queen. Immediately the lights were put out, 
and the Egyptians disappeared like a flock of birds, 
leaving me alone in total darkness.” 

“ How did they get out ? ” inquired Renee. “ No 
one passed here.” 

Fool that I am ! ” exclaimed the young officer, 
stamping his foot, “ I forgot the staircase leading to 
the church. Of course, these rascals escaped that 
way. I am robbed ! ” 

“ Console yourself, my dear nephew,” said M. de 
Forton; “ I have lost a silk handkerchief.” 

“ We cannot let such a thing pass,” cried Frederic. 
“ What are you going to do, uncle ? ” 

“ Buy another handkerchief, nephew,” said the 
Commander, in a tone so grave and so convincing 
that the two young girls burst out laughing, and 
Frederic restored his sword to the scabbard with a 
sigh. 

“ This pious visit will cost me fifteen pounds eleven¬ 
pence,” said he. 

” I am really distressed to have been the cause of 
your loss,” said Renee. 

“ The fault is ours,” said M. de Forton. “We 
should have known how much we can depend on the 
honesty of these pilgrims. Every year these thievish 
creatures come here in great numbers, bringing such 
magnificent candles as you have seen, and for which 
they pay very high; but they indemnify themselves 


ren£e. 


161 


for their expenses in the lower chapel by their profits 
in the upper chapel. Whenever a new queen is pro¬ 
claimed in the crypt of Saint Sarah, they reap a rich 
harvest of purses, handkerchiefs, watches, and all 
kinds of articles, from the most valuable to the most 
trifling.” 

“ Yet,” said Renee, “ I saw the children scraping 
up wax from the floor, which is no doubt used in 
making new tapers.” 

“ Permit me, fair lady,” said the Commander, “ to 
rectify an opinion which is quite natural for one who 
is not familiar with the customs of our country and 
of that accursed race. This wax picked up from the 
pavement, together with candle-ends stolen from the 
upper chapel, is melted with oil, amid certain super¬ 
stitious rites, accompanied by incantations. It is 
then used in witchcraft and other diabolical prac¬ 
tices.” 

This conversation was interrupted by the sound of 
chanting which broke in upon the silence of the night. 
It was the pilgrims in the upper chapel, who had 
assembled around the relics, exposed during the 
night, to renew their supplications to their powerful 
intercessors, asking them to obtain the grace which 
they had come hither to ask. Through the open 
door they could perceive, above the close mass of 
heads, the light of the tapers and the upstretched 
arms of the kneeling multitude. Renee paused an 
instant, spell-bound by this consoling sight, which 


162 


RENEE. 


effaced from her mind the painful impression pro¬ 
duced by her visit to the crypt. 

The voices sang: 

“ Arriban de luen, p6caire ! 

Pleu d’amour et de respet, 

O patrouno di pescaire ! 

Pour nous traire a vosti ped ! ” * 

Then there was deep silence, for prayer had fol¬ 
lowed upon the. hymn, and only the noise of the 
neighboring sea was heard, its waves joining in the 
praises of God. 

“ Those good people will spend the night there,” 
said Germaine to her friend; “ to-morrow the sun 
will find them still praying and singing alternately.” 

Renee was deeply touched. They all walked on 
silently to the little house near the priory where they 
had found lodgings. Just as they reached there the 
voices were again heard in the distance, singing one 
of the more familiar hymns: 

“ But God’s holy providence 
Into Provence 
Showed you the way.” 

Renee was overcome with fatigue; but, instead of 
going to bed, as soon as she had reached her little 
room she threw herself on her knees and, bursting- 
into tears, cried out from the bottom of her heart: 

* “ We sinners come from far ! 

Full of love and respect, 

O Patroness of fishers, 

To thy feet we come !” 




RENEE. 


163 


11 May Thy providence, O my God, enable me to 
find in Provence, whither Thou hast brought me, the 
way which I seek ! ” 

This way was that of her vocation. Early de¬ 
prived of her mother, Renee de Blesignan had been 
confided by her father to the religious of the Convent 
of St. Praxeda to be educated. 

Of a nature at once gentle, poetic, and loving, the 
child felt a special attraction for prayer, and this 
tender piety increased as she grew older. “ Our 
Renee is like a lily which is gradually unfolding,” 
said the Superior, charmed with the good disposi¬ 
tions of her favorite pupil. It is generally supposed 
that piety means a sort of forced gravity and self¬ 
concentration. Nothing could be farther from the 
truth. Any one familiar with religious, especially 
those who follow the most austere rules, are aware 
that, on the contrary, prudent directors regard as a 
sign of a non-vocation that natural melancholy which 
the world attributes to those who are separated from 
it. Renee had in the highest degree the excellent 
quality of an even disposition. Simple, cheerful, 
and even merry, she adapted herself to all her com¬ 
panions and made herself universally beloved. 

The Superior of St. Praxeda, a woman of -cul¬ 
tivated intellect and of ardent piety, was well aware 
that the Marquis de Blesignan, who, of his three 
children, had only Ren£e remaining, would desire 
her to marry young, and settle in the castle of Nyons, 


164 


RENEE. 


to be the solace of his declining years. Too prudent 
and discreet to interfere with his plans unless God 
should ordain otherwise, the abbess studied the dis¬ 
position of her pupil, cultivating heart and mind 
alike, while carefully abstaining from advising her to 
any step which the providence of God did not mark 
out in an unmistakable manner. 

When Renee, at the age of sixteen, left the con¬ 
vent, she said to the nuns: 

“ I am not leaving you forever: I will return.” 

“ My child,” said the abbess, “ obey God and your 
conscience. You can save your soul anywhere, and 
Providence does not require that all young girls 
should consecrate themselves to a religious life.” 

“ I feel that I will come back,” said Renee. 

“ Sometimes we can do more good in the world 
than in the cloister,” said the nun, with the calm 
dignity that nothing had power to ruffle. “ May 
your good angel watch over you. Adieu, my 
child.” 

That very evening the Marquis set out with his 
daughter for Nyons. Notwithstanding the pleasure 
which he felt in the thought that his daughter—and 
such a beautiful and charming daughter, who would 
do the honors of the castle so admirably—was return¬ 
ing with him at last, he was thoughtful and almost 
sad. 

The abbess had spoken to him, for she had divined 
what was passing in Renee’s mind before the young 


RENEE. 165 

girl had told her of it, and felt bound to acquaint the 
Marquis with the result of her observations. 

M. de Blesignan was a Christian and had a pro¬ 
found respect for religious, men and women, but he 
had never dreamt that his daughter would want to 
be a nun. His selfish paternal love revolted against 
the thought. 

Cornebleu ! ” cried he, “ if I thought that Renee 
dreamt of such a thing, I would marry her to-morrow. ’ ’ 

“ That is the affair of your own conscience,” said 
the abbess, with her grandest air. “ My duty was 
to let you know; it is for you to act as you think 
best. Allow me to observe, Monsieur, for I have 
seen striking examples thereof, that it is dangerous 
for parents to oppose the will of God, and to seek to 
take from Him a soul which He has chosen. God is 
more powerful than we, Monsieur le Marquis, and 
what we obstinately refuse Him He often takes from 
us. ” 

And rising, the abbess bowed profoundly and left 
the room. 

Several weeks passed, and no subject of dispute 
came up between father and daughter. Renee was 
always gay, affectionate to her father, and unostenta¬ 
tiously pious. By her grace and distinction of man¬ 
ner she charmed all the people of rank who came to 
the chateau, and by her goodness made herself idol¬ 
ized by all the servants and tenants. 

Did her father desire her to attend to the duties 


i 66 


RENEE. 


of the household, she performed them with the pre¬ 
cision of a long-tried housekeeper; did he wish her to 
ride with him, she rode to perfection; did he bring 
her into society, she shone there by her natural ele¬ 
gance and an unaffected gayety which caused her to 
be much sought after and admired. Ren£e made 
but one exception. She did not absolutely refuse 
to go to the theatre, but she asked her father as a 
favor not to take her there. He, so imperious, so 
unbending, riding the hobby of his rights, did not 
insist. She overcame his strength by her gentleness, 
and inspired him with such unwonted timidity that, 
whereas he had resolved to declare his sovereign will, 
he dared not open his mouth on the famous subject 
of vocation. Nor did Renee allude to it. She in¬ 
stinctively felt that he would be inflexible upon this 
point; while he knew that she would yield to all his 
desires except that one. Their life was apparently 
peaceful; but it was only a truce. Sometimes the 
young girl hinted this to him, as when he asked her: 

“ Would you not like to go to this ball ? ” 

“ Yes, because I know you wish me to go.” 

Upon one occasion he sent to Lyons for a costume 
more elegant even than usual. She wore it, without 
making the slightest objection. At night, when all 
the company had departed, he complimented her on 
it, saying: 

“You looked charming in that dress.” 

“ I am glad you liked it,” she said, “ for pleasing 


RENEE. 


167 


you is a compensation for the trouble of putting on 
and wearing so complicated a dress.” 

She spoke thus in all sincerity. Her heart was not 
in the world; she shone there, but she did not care 
for it, and much preferred a solitary walk in the 
mountains, with her father as guide, to all those inane 
assemblies, where even vanity often suffers more than 
it triumphs. 

Still, self-controlled as she was, Renee had mo¬ 
ments of despondency, which her father was not slow 
to perceive. These foggy days, as she afterwards 
called them, were rare indeed, though not so rare 
but that they told upon her health, and the mountain 
air, which should have brought color into her cheeks, 
only made her paler and paler. M. de Blesignan was 
distressed beyond measure. An old physician of 
Nyons, and a friend of the family, who had come to 
the chateau only in this latter quality for the past 
fifteen years, as M. de Blesignan did not know the 
meaning of the word sickness, replied, when the father 
questioned him upon his daughter’s paleness: 

“ Her constitution is good ; Mademoiselle de Blesig¬ 
nan is not ill, but I mistake very much or she has 
something on her mind.” 

“ What could it be ? ” 

“ Some inclination thwarted—how should I know? ” 

“ You are sure she did not confide anything to 
you ? ” 

“ Nothing at all.” 


i68 


RENEE. 


The conversation ended there, for the Marquis 
changed it so abruptly that the doctor said to himself: 
“ The Marquis knows what the trouble is.” 

A few weeks after he was going up the mountain 
to visit a patient, and as he climbed the steep road, 
reading as he went, he heard his name called. He 
turned, and saw M. de Blesignan, with his gun on 
his shoulder, coming up behind him. 

“Have you had good sport, Monsieur?” asked 
the doctor. 

“ A hare or two, but I was not thinking much 
about it. Tell me, doctor, do you suppose that an 
inclination thwarted could cause illness ? ” 

“ That depends upon the nature of the person.” 

“ But putting things in the worst light ? ” 

“ Then it might cause death.” 

“ Cornebleu! ” cried the hunter, rapping on the 
ground with his gun. “And the remedy, doctor, 
the remedy ? ’ ’ 

“ Distraction, occupation, and especially travel¬ 
ling.” 

“Travelling?” said the Marquis. “We will try 
that.” 

And, throwing his gun over his shoulder again, he 
turned abruptly away, forgetting even to take leave 
of the good doctor. 

A week afterwards the doctor went to the castle, 
to dine there, according to his wont, on the first 
Tuesday of every month. He was surprised to learn 


RENEE. 


169 


that the Marquis had gone, three days before, to 
Lyons with his daughter, and that the time of his 
return was uncertain. 

But this journey had not the desired effect. Renee 
liked the tumult and bustle of large cities still less 
than the calm and quiet of the country. The only 
real pleasure she experienced at Lyons was going to 
pray before the shrine of Notre Dame de Fourvieres. 
So her father brought her home. As he passed 
through Orange the idea occurred to him to go and 
visit his cousin, Madame de Lafare, who had re¬ 
cently been elected abbess of the Trinitarian nuns 
at Bolenes. Madame de Lafare, though an excellent 
religious, was still the grande dame. She greeted 
them cordially, and said, joking, to the father: 

‘‘ Since the happy thought of bringing Ren£e here 
struck you, you had better leave her to us.” 

The “ Cornebleu ! ” came to the Marquis’s lips, but 
he restrained it. 

“ Would you not like to stay with us, my dear ? ” 
said the abbess, addressing Renee. 

“ With my father’s consent I would like nothing 
better, ma mere,” said Renee. 

“ You hear, cousin. I demand your consent.” 

“ We shall see about that later,” said the Marquis. 

“ God does not like delays, cousin,” said the ab¬ 
bess, still smiling. 

The Marquis was enraged at his own rashness in fall¬ 
ing into such a snare, but the harm was done. He 


REN^E. 


170 

promised to bring Renee back, to have a talk with 
the abbess, but meantime set out hastily for Nyons, 
excusing himself to Madame de Lafare on the plea 
of a message that he had received. 

A journey to Marseilles, some months later, had 
no better effect, though the Marquis scrupulously 
avoided convents. His daughter, who had been so 
delighted with the shrine of Notre Dame de Four- 
vRres at Lyons, was equally charmed at Marseilles 
with Notre Dame-de-la-Garde, patron of sailors. Of 
all the balls at which she assisted none produced half 
the impression made upon her by a chance meeting 
with some thirty rude mariners, who, barefooted 
and bareheaded, carrying lighted tapers, were climb¬ 
ing the hill, singing litanies to the good Mother, 
whose intercession had snatched them from the fury 
of the waves, and before whose altar they were going 
to hang, as an ex-voto , a miniature of their ship, the 
St. Joseph of Martigues. After such a sight what 
could she see in a review or civic procession, where the 
municipal authorities paraded in red robes, preceded 
by rod-bearers and lackeys ? Even M. de Blesignan 
himself had to admit so much. Yet the time was 
approaching when the poor father would be obliged 
to come to some decision. He knew it well, and 
could not conceal from himself that his daughter had 
made little progress in her affection for a worldly life. 
Besides, Renee’s health was far from improving. 

“ What are you doing to your daughter, Marquis ? ” 


REN^E. 


I 7 t 

said the prior of the Carmelites, an ex-officer of the 
Guards, who had exchanged his uniform for the serge 
robe of the Fathers of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. 
“ She is evidently homesick.” 

This remark, and many others to the same effect, 
painfully impressed him, for he remembered the last 
words spoken by the abbess of St. Praxeda, and his 
own conscience seemed to whisper: 

“ God can take your child from you if you refuse 
to give her willingly.” 

Still he persisted in driving away the thought. He 
was not courageous enough to renounce all the hap¬ 
piness he had promised himself in the near future. 

This state of things went on for some time longer, 
when one day a messenger brought a letter to the 
chateau of Nyons for the Marquis. The arrival of 
such a document now is a matter of little moment, but 
then a letter produced a sensation ; it was only written 
on rare occasions or to convey some extraordinary in¬ 
telligence. However, the Marquis easily guessed 
whence it came, and by whom it was written. The 
word Provence, inscribed in great red letters, showed its 
whereabouts, and the crest of the Commander, stamped 
upon the seal, left no room for doubt as to who was 
his correspondent. Yet it was not till he had turned 
it over and over again, and weighed it in his hand, 
that he decided to break the seal and read what his 
old friend had written. After a preamble, which was 
as ceremonious as all that he said and did, the Com- 


172 


RENlf.E. 


mander announced to his old friend that on such a 
day and at such an hour—almost at such a minute, so 
precise was he in his details—he would arrive in 
Avignon, where he would put up at the sign of the 
Trois Rois Mages,* in the Rue Calade, so called be¬ 
cause it was entirely paved ; that unless urgent business 
prevented M. de Bl£signan from being there he would 
be most happy to see him, and converse on matters 
of the deepest importance, the successful issue of 
which would much rejoice him, as it would bind still 
closer the ties of friendship and of kinship which 
had long united the two families, and by which he, 
on his part, set infinite store. A whole page was de¬ 
voted to protestations of this nature, written in a 
stiff, close, large handwriting, where the letters were 
all under arms, and in which the lines preserved their 
exact parallels and their equal distances with the 
regularity of a battalion of Frederic the Great’s 
grenadiers. The second page was the rear-guard of 
this superb main wing, or what we might more simply 
call a postscript, the object of which was to announce 
the accidental return for a few months’ leave of his 
nephew Frederic, of whom he drew a most flattering 
portrait. His nephew and future heir, he said, was 
a young man of great promise; but that his mother, 
who was a widow, and naturally anxious to keep her 
son with her, would renounce his brilliant prospects if 


* The Three Kings or Magi. 



RENEE. 


173 


an alliance presented itself such as his fortune and 
ancient name made desirable. 

M. de Bl£signan had never shone by his skill in 
guessing the riddles with which the new patriotic 
journal embellished its last page, but this time he 
found the key to the enigma at once, and felt a lively 
pleasure in the thought that a man of the tried valor 
of his old friend the Commander was coming to his 
aid. It was not altogether chance, therefore, that 
caused him to meet M. de Forton in Avignon, nor 
altogether the persistency of the latter which had 
made him promise to bring his daughter to Ca- 
margue about the time of the pilgrimage. 

This little comedy, played for the benefit of the 
public, and every detail of which was carefully re¬ 
peated at Nyons, as well as at Camargue, was really 
the result of a conspiracy in which Madame herself 
was prime mover. The noble lady had sufficient 
tact not to represent herself as the soul of the move¬ 
ment, for she knew that the best means of interest¬ 
ing the Commander in its success was to leave him 
under the impression that his diplomacy had alone 
been able to conquer the young girl’s passive resist¬ 
ance. Yet, in spite of the penetration of our chate¬ 
laine, who, in the first place, shared the illusion of all 
mothers as to the merits of her son, and who, in the 
second place, was of those who, because they desire 
a thing ardently, feel certain of obtaining it, she al¬ 
lowed her hopes to be raised by the simple, affec- 


i74 


REN^E. 


tionate word which Renee had spoken to her in the 
church. She totally mistook the import of such a 
title bestowed upon her at such a moment. 

M. de Blesignan was also charmed with the effect 
of his trip. His daughter had not been for a long 
time so unaffectedly gay as since her arrival in Ca- 
margue, where everything seemed to please and in¬ 
terest her—nature and the people, especially Fred¬ 
eric, whose witty and sprightly conversation amused 
her infinitely. 

The Marquis repeated a dozen times a day to the 
Commander: 

“ Cornebleu! he is a splendid fellow; he has a 
superb figure, a fine face, full of life and spirit, and 
wears his uniform to perfection. He reminds me of 
what I was at his age.” 

M. de Forton did not answer, but smilingly took 
a pinch of tobacco, and dispensed with a prodigal 
hand the treasures of his somewhat old-fashioned 
courtesy to the fair lady. 

The next day it would be too late to think of set¬ 
ting out after the blessing of the relics; and they did 
not like to leave before, as Renee was most anxious 
to see the end, and the touching ceremony of the 
procession to the seashore. It was therefore decided 
that they would wait for the removing of the relics. 
This last episode was, perhaps, the most touching 
and most dramatic of all. 

After Vespers and Benediction in the evening the 


RENtfE. 


175 


pulley was let down again to the altar, where hitherto 
the precious relics had been exposed; the Saints were 
going up into their upper chapel for another year. 
Some of the infirm were cured—they were, of course, 
the few; the others saw with despair their last hope 
vanishing. Cries and tears broke forth on all sides; 
the more ardent threw themselves before the reli¬ 
quaries and embraced them as if they would not let 
them go; the pulley was tightened, the cords stretched, 
but the groups of suppliants still clung to the sacred 
coffers. Vain efforts ! already they were losing 
ground and must soon let go. But the letting go 
was accompanied by sighs and tears; all hearts and 
hands were outstretched towards the relics. Prayers, 
hopes, and wishes rise with them; it is the last in¬ 
cense sent up to the vault above. 

“ Great servants of God, who have lived but for 
Him, who have consecrated your lives to the praise of 
His holy name,” said Renee, in her heart, “ forget 
not that she who now implores you asks only the 
grace to imitate you. And since you have brought 
her here, grant that in Camargue, which you have 
sanctified, she may obtain the favor which she asks.” 

Her whole soul was in these words. The Saints 
heard them, and found them pleasing, for the sup¬ 
pliant seemed to hear a voice, which said: 

“ Have confidence ! Your prayer will be heard.” 

A great calm fell upon her spirit. When she came 
out of the church, her face seemed as if transfigured, 


i 7 6 


REN^E. 


“ Well, my child, how did you like our pilgri¬ 
mage ? ” said Madame. 

“Ah! mother, it is beautiful and consoling. I am 
so glad that I came here with you,” said Renee, 
taking one of Madame’s hands and kissing it affec¬ 
tionately. 

This time Madame could not have been mistaken. 
Renee had certainly said “ mother.” The Com¬ 
mander silently clasped his friend’s hand, and the 
friend himself, under pretence of examining the carved 
lions at the door, turned away to hide the tears of 
joy which rolled down his face. 

“If you are not too tired,” said Frederic, “we 
might go to the city gates to see the departure of the 
pilgrims. ” 

“ With all my heart, if Germaine is willing,” said 
Renee. 

“ Perfectly willing, dear,’ said Germaine. “ Let 
us go at once. 

The sight they saw repaid them for their trouble. 
All around the walls were what seemed like bees 
swarming around their hive. Tents were being taken 
down, stakes pulled up, while the neighing of the 
Camargue ponies, being mounted by the guardians, 
was only equalled by the concert of asses and mules 
being harnessed by their owners. Whilst the vehicles 
were filled to overflowing, the pilgrims, the real pil¬ 
grims, who had come hither on foot, had already 
formed into a long, black line, proceeding in the di- 


RENEE. 


77 


rection of the Rhone, the course of which most of 
them followed as far as Albaron. Singing they had 
come, and singing they departed, and of their hymns, 
gradually dying away in the distance, only the re¬ 
frain, which was sung in chorus, reached the ear: 

“ Belli santo 
Ravissanto, 

De tout cousta, 

Touti li pople encanto 
Venon per vous canta.” * 

“ I need hardly translate you these lines,” said 
Germaine. 

” No, I quite understand them,” said Renee, her¬ 
self translating them. 

At that moment, with a great noise of trumpets 
and bells and horns, the whole gypsy tribe moved off. 
The new Queen of Egypt, seated beside the King in 
the last cart, showed her white teeth in a profusion 
of smiles, and sent kisses to the right and left. As 
they passed the group in which Frederic stood he took 
off his hat and bowed. 

“ What are you doing ? ” said the Commander. 

” Paying military honors to your foulard and my 
sword-knot,” said Frederic. 


* “ Beautiful, ravishing saints, 
With all their soul 
The people enchanted 
Come to sing your praises.” 



MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


178 


CHAPTER VII 


MARITIME CAMARGUE 


'HE Rhone!” cried Renee next morningwhen she 



1 suddenly saw the blue waters thrown like an 
azure scarf upon the yellow sand, which, like an un¬ 
dulating drapery, surrounds the little town of les 
Saintes; “ I thought it was behind us.” 

‘‘That is not the Rhone, dear,” said Germaine, 
“but a fragment of one of its former arms, which now 
has no communication with the sea.” 

“ True, this water has no current; one would think 
it was asleep,” said Renee. “Yet the sea is not far 
off; that is it shining before us.” 

Germaine laughed. 

“What you take for the sea,” she said, “is the 
Imperial, after which comes the Malagray, another 
little stream, that is itself but a continuation of the 
Valcares.” 

“Then we are not returning by the same road,” 
said Renee, who, in this network of water and sand, 
sought her whereabouts in vain. 

“You came to see Camargue, fair lady, and to 
gratify your desire, which is law to me, I have changed 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


1 79 


our course in order to show it to you under its fairest 
aspects,” said the Commander, who, now full of hope, 
exhausted himself in devising an uninterrupted series 
of pleasures and amusements for the daughter of his 
old friend. 

“You are far too kind, Monsieur, and I am quite 
embarrassed at the trouble which I give you,” said 
Renee. 

“ My reward is in your gratification,” said M. de 
Forton. The gypsies had fortunately left him his 
snuffbox, into which he now dipped, at the same time 
making his horse go through the evolutions indicated 
by the parfait ecuycr frangdis. 

“ Cornebleu ! my dear Commander,” said the Mar¬ 
quis, who was watching his friend’s movements, “ you 
ride as well as you did at twenty years. Really, 
Madame,” he added, turning to the chatelaine, “I 
think your country is a fountain of perpetual youth 
for men.” 

“ It is to be regretted that it is not the same for 
women,” said Madame, smiling at the Marquis’s 
enthusiasm. 

“Such a regret on your part, Madame,” responded 
the Marquis, promptly and with a profound bow, “ can 
only be explained by the anticipation of a distant 
future.” 

“ The compliment is delicately put, Monsieur,” said 
the lady, “but happily I have no illusions upon that 
score. If I had kept any, my mirror would have dis- 


i8o 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


pelled them long ago; but that is little matter, and my 
only anxiety now is, not my own future, but that of 
our children 

“For that future, Madame, I have faith in Ca- 
margue, and still more in the attractions of those who 
inhabit it. ’ ’ 

“ In fact, things are going pretty well,” said M. de 
Forton, bending over to his friend, and pointing to 
Frederic, who was riding gayly along beside the two 
girls. 

They were now but a few paces from the river, upon 
which a vessel was dancing lightly, waving its white 
sails in the breeze. In the distance they could just 
distinguish a canoe, urged by two vigorous oarsmen, 
which soon disappeared behind the point of la Redon- 
ni&re. 

At sight of the cavalcade two fishermen, standing 
upon the shore, chatting with a group of guardians who 
were seated on their white ponies, at once began to 
haul in the vessel as close as possible to the shore. 

“One would think they were awaiting us,” said 
Renee, pointing them out to her cousin. 

“ That is just what they are doing,” said Germaine. 

“They are our fishermen and guardians,” said 
Frederic. “ I recognize Marius among them.” 

“And I am looking vainly for Theresine,” said 
Germaine. “ My uncle, who has thought of the su¬ 
perfluous, may have overlooked the necessary.” 

“ Is Theresine what you call the necessary ? ” 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


iSl 

“Not Theresine exactly, but the provisions which 
she has in charge; and if, as it would seem, we are 
going to embark on that vessel, we shall run the 
risk of dying of hunger.” 

“ And thirst,” said Frederic, with a sigh. “The 
stream is broad, the trip delightful, but there are no 
inns upon the way.” 

“We shall catch some fish, and for our drink we 
shall gather the rain of heaven, as shipwrecked people 
do,” said Renee. 

“It is very romantic in a novel,” said Frederic, 
“but in reality the stomach does not accommodate 
itself well to fiction.” 

“We shall have recourse to Providence, and God 
will be our aid. 

“ ‘ Aux petits des oiseaux il donne la pature.’ ” * 

“To the birds, very likely,” said Frederic; “but 
unhappily, as far as I know, we do not belong to that 
interesting family.” 

“ ‘ Et sa bonte s’ 6tend a toute la nature,’ ” f 

continued Renee, repeating, with the most melodious 
accent possible, those charming verses of Racine. 

Still Frederic was not reassured, and hastened to 
ask Marius if there were provisions on board. The 
answ r er was not satisfactory. 


* “ To the young of birds He giveth food.” 
f “ And His goodness extends to all nature. 



182 


MARITIME CAM ARGUE. 


“And the baskets in the carriage?” persisted 
Frederic. 

“ They are empty.” 

“ Where is Th£resine ? ” 

“She left this morning.” 

“ Then,” said Frederic, offering his hand to Renee, 
who was running about like a child on the fine sand, 
“ my uncle has forced a fast-day upon us, and, frankly 
speaking, I think he would have done better not to 
infringe upon the rights of the Church.” 

Just then the carriage arrived, and M. de Blesignan 
and Madame got out. 

“Take the horses back to the Mas Rouge,” said the 
Commander to the guardians; “and you, Jean-de- 
Dieu, be at the salt-works of the tower of Valat with 
the carriage about five o’clock this afternoon : we shall 
all sleep at the Commandery to-night.” 

“It is now a quarter to nine,” murmured Frederic; 
“we shall never reach the salt-works before three, 
at earliest. Why, it is longer than the Lenten 
fast.” 

“You fellows,” said M. de Forton, addressing the 
fishermen, “ must take us round by the islands between 
the Sansouire and the forest of Rieges, where we will 
get out and walk about a little.” 

Frederic’s face lengthened so perceptibly that Ger¬ 
maine burst out laughing. 

“It is sheer treachery,” said the dragoon. “ Had 
I suspected such a plot, I should have taken three 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 183 

months’ provisions with me. We shall never*get 
there before four o’clock.” 

“ Fair lady, permit me to take your hand and assist 
you into the boat in which you are going to traverse 
our miniature ocean,” said the Commander, leading 
Renee to the vessel, in which Madame de Marcoiran 
and the Marquis were already seated. 

“Push off,” said the Commander. 

Marius obeyed with one blow of his boat-hook, ad¬ 
justed the helm, while the two fishermen rowed with 
all their might and main to reach the place where the 
sails could catch the wind. They passed a whole bed 
of marine plants, a species of water-lilies with large 
round leaves, called by the fishermen water-pancakes, 
and of which the yellow flowers, supported by long 
green stalks, seemed to follow every undulation of the 
waves. 

In the midst of this verdure, dotted by the spring 
with golden nails, darted in and out, like silver light¬ 
ning sparkling in the furrow made by the boat, a 
multitude of little fish frightened by the noise of 
the oars, whilst above circled, with sharp, piercing 
cries, snow-white gulls, who, suddenly folding their 
wings, swooped down upon the fugitives, making a 
splash in the water, and reappearing suddenly like 
flakes of foam dancing on its surface. 

The boat meanwhile pursued its course; it soon 
reached the point where it caught the breeze. To the 
green meadow succeeded the blue of deep water; 


8 4 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


the boatmen raised their oars, and the sail, suddenly 
unrolling, veered round, sending the boat over so 
suddenly that Renee just escaped being thrown out by 
seizing the edge. But after that the motion, though 
swift, was so gentle that it seemed as if an invisible 
force were urging it over the surface of the waters, 
which, cleaved by the edge of the boat, divided, and 
festooned its dark sides with a light veil of gauze. 

For the first time in her life Renee experienced 
being borne over the water by the gentle motion of a 
sail-boat. The novelty of the sensation, and the 
beauty of the picture which reached her eyes, en¬ 
chanted her. Island succeeded to island, varying in 
form as in color, and in her delight Ren£e might have 
repeated to herself some such lines as these, written a 
century later: 

“ Smyrne est une princesse, 

Avec son frais chapel, 

Et comme un riant groupe 
De fleurs dans une coupe, 

Dans ses murs se d6coupe 
Plus d’un frais archipel.” * 

It was truly a new world, at once charming and 
unexpected, this multitude of islands between the 
Valcarks and the sea; a perfect labyrinth of green and 


* “ Smyrna is a princess, 

With a chapel cool, 

And, like a laughing group 
Of flowers in a cup, 

From her walls are cut out 
More than one archipelago.” 



MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


185 

tender rush-beds alternating with its bluish rocks or 
islands, the one empurpled by the saltwort waving 
gently in the sunlight, the others gray, and starred by 
those daisies of yellow gold which the salt-workers call 
the fleur cT amour * 

This world apart, full of poetry and sublimity, has 
also its own particular population: white gulls, bluish 
swallows, black water-fowl with coral legs running 
lightly over the brilliant coating of salt deposited by 
the sea, flamingoes with purple wings, gray herons, 
ducks of all colors paddling about noisily, wild bulls 
that, at the approach of the boat, raised their heads 
and looked out from the rushes with an aspect at once 
threatening and timid at the audacious travellers who 
dared to disturb their solitude, and white horses neigh¬ 
ing loudly and flying with mane flowing in the breeze, 
raising a cloud of dust on their passage. 

As they approached the forest of Ridges Renee’s 
astonishment increased. She was the first to perceive, 
in a clearing, a tent formed by an awning stretched 
over four trunks of trees, and beside it a bright fire, 
around which were several figures, which were to be 
seen passing and repassing through the colonnade of 
pines. She pointed out the fire to Germaine and 
Frederic, but neither of them knew anything about it; 
the Commander took snuff and rubbed his hands, and 
Madame smiled. All at once the lynx eyes of 
Frederic discovered Theresine. He cried out: 


* Love-flower. 



MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


I 86 

“ Why, there is Theresine !” and his face brightened, 
for Theresine was the providence which supplied him 
with his daily bread. 

It was indeed Theresine, who came to receive the 
travellers, and offered Renee a superb bouquet of 
coral-like flowers. The breakfast, served upon a 
table-cloth spread upon the sand, consisted of viands 
peculiar to the country: fish from the sea, and game, 
rye-bread, corn-cakes, water as clear as crystal and as 
cool as ice, in the picous , or earthenware bottles, hung 
on the trees to keep them from the sun. The salt air 
of the sea had sharpened their appetites. Boxes 
served for seats, and Theresine had forgotten neither 
the wine furnished by the Commander’s cellar nor the 
coffee from the Mas Rouge. The weather was superb; 
the heavens smiled upon the earth; a fresh breeze 
stirred the pines, decorated with moss and long 
streamers of seaweed, which hung in festoons from the 
crooked branches whither the wind had carried them. 

It required a few moments to appease their ap¬ 
petites, but soon the tongues were loosened, and toasts 
succeeded to toasts. The Marquis drank to Madame 
de Marcoiran, to his friend, to Camargue, to Ger¬ 
maine, to Frederic, to Theresine, to his daughter, to 
Marius, to the Sansouire, to himself. Cornebleu! 
he would have drunk to the abbess of St. Praxeda her¬ 
self could any memory of her have come to him in 
such a moment. 

M. de Forton drank a toast and composed almost a 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


I8 7 


madrigal in honor of the beautiful Iris, Mile, de Ble- 
signan, whom he proclaimed the sovereign of the 
island of Camargue, and the brightest star in its blue 
sky. This improvisation, meditated upon for two 
days and carefully studied, was an immense success. 
Germaine volunteered to crown the queen, and wove 
for her a wreath all of flowers, with no thorns. Fred¬ 
eric drank to Ren£e through politeness, but to Ther£- 
sine through real enthusiasm. 

In a word, the Commander’s little surprise-party 
was wonderfully successful, and the guardians of this 
wild place gave three cheers, which were re-echoed 
like thunder, when M. de Forton invited them, in the 
name of Mile, de Blesignan, to partake of the plenti¬ 
ful remnants of that plentiful meal, to the delicacy of 
which their rude palates were little accustomed. 

“Well, Monsieur le Chevalier,” said Renee, as 
they were getting into the boat, “ will you believe me 
now ? Was I not right in saying: 

* ‘ To the little birds He giveth food ’ ? ” 

“ I admit,” said the Chevalier, bowing profoundly, 
“you are a great prophetess, my uncle a gallant Am¬ 
phitryon, and Theresine an illustrious cook.” 

Urged by the breeze the boat, directed by Marius, 
beside whom sat his wife, glided lightly on in the 
direction of the tower of Valat. The conversation, 
at first noisy and animated, became quieter, toned 
down by that gentle melancholy which is always in- 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


188 

spired by wild and solitary nature, when the Com¬ 
mander, approaching Mile, de Blesignan, asked if she 
would not sing something, no matter what, to gratify 
the joint wishes of all the company. 

Her repertoire was not extensive, but she knew that 
in such a case it is better to do what one can without 
urging. Her voice was not powerful, but flexible and 
sympathetic. She sang one of the choruses from 
Athalie which she had learned at the convent, and 
which she sang with a peculiar charm. Every one 
applauded; but the Commander, who desired some¬ 
thing more lively to raise their spirits, after having 
exhausted himself in praise of her effort, asked Ger¬ 
maine to sing. 

“Sing the song of Magali,” said Madame; “our 
dear Ren£e has already made such progress in Proven- 
gal that I am sure she will hear it with pleasure.” 

“I shall sing it willingly,” said Germaine; “but 
the song is long, and as it is in two parts, Th£r£sine 
will sing the first, and I the second. Her voice is 
much better than mine, so you will lose nothing by 
this arrangement.” 

The Chevalier’s foster-sister made many objections, 
feeling a certain hesitation as to taking any part in the 
amusements of her masters, but Madame insisted, and 
she began: 

“ O Magali, ma tant amado, 

Mete la teste au fenestroun ! 

Escouto un pau aquesto aubado 
De tambourin et de viouloun.” 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


189 


In a voice not quite so strong, but fully as har¬ 
monious, Germaine answered: 

“ Ei plen d’estello, aperamount ! 

L’auro es troubado,” etc. 

They continued thus to answer each other, verse 
by verse, while the boat sailed lightly on, and the 
chopping of the waves against the shore mingled 
with their strain of music. They had scarcely finished 
their song, which was interrupted by constant ap¬ 
plause, when they arrived at the salt-works at the 
tower of Valat. They had come so rapidly that the 
horses were barely arrived. With them had come a 
guardian sent from the Commandery, bringing a letter 
for M. de Forton bearing the arms of the municipality 
of Arles. The Commander broke the seal, read it 
hastily, and said to the Marquis: 

“ My dear Blesignan, here is a letter to which I 
must at once reply. I ask your permission to stop 
here long enough to write a few lines in pencil, as pen 
and ink are unknown among the salt-workers. Mean¬ 
while the horses will take breath, and my nephew, 
who knows the works, will do the honors and serve 
you as guide.” 

To any one who has never seen salt-works the im¬ 
mense tessellated plain, each square of which forms a 
cistern filled with water, clear or of a deep pink color 
according as it is more or less saturated, and separated 
from each other by little banks, or queyrels, opened 


190 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


at stated intervals by sluices which carry off the fresh 
or salt water alternately, is really a curious sight. All 
these right lines, running parallel with each other, 
and cut square by other perpendicular banks, consti¬ 
tute the workshop where evaporation takes place 
every year, especially in August. 

Frederic and Germaine had long been familiar with 
the various operations necessary in the making of 
salt. They explained to their cousin the use of these 
embankments, which serve not only to form squares 
or compartments, but as paths for the overseers; the 
utility of the sluices, which, as the water disappears 
by evaporation, leaving behind its surplus of salt, 
pour out a new stream of water, which in its turn 
evaporates, till the precipitated salt is thick enough to 
be removed. 

“You see,” said Germaine, “that the water is 
almost red in some squares. Those contain the sea¬ 
water, which is not mixed with the other, and from 
which the salt is taken somewhere about the month 
of August. The sun usually finishes the work of 
evaporation. Thick at first, this water grows crys¬ 
tallized, and forms a thick layer of salt, glittering 
like rose-colored ice, and so strong that not only can 
it bear any weight, but to raise it an iron pick is 
needed; then it is broken into masses something the 
shape of paving-stones. This operation is called a 
levy, because at this time, when work is pressing, the 
salt-makers, whose trade has hitherto required more 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


r 9 


care than actual labor, collect in great numbers to 
remove the crystals, which they put in straw baskets, 
or couffins , containing about a hundred pounds of salt, 
rudely broken. These are heaped into pyramids, 
called camelles , such as you see yonder, covered with 
rush mats.” 

“ I see only a line of little houses,” said Renee, 
“ and no pyramids at all.” 

“Those little houses, as you call them,” said 
Frederic, “are precisely the camelles , or heaps of 
salt. See, at the far end are two, not yet covered.” 

“ But are not those red pyramids made of brick? ” 
asked Renee. 

“No, they are of salt.” 

“ But salt is white? ” 

“Yes, when the sun has bleached it.” 

“ What gives it that red color? ” 

“A substance which is found in great abundance 
in sea-water—iodine; this evaporates very easily in 
the open air, giving forth a strong odor of violets.” 

“I thought I smelt them,” said Ren6e, “and I 
was looking everywhere for those spring flowers, 
which we have in such abundance.” 

“ Ah, those poor little flowers do not come here,” 
said Germaine, “ and we will do well not to stay too 
long ourselves.” 

“ Why?” 

“ On account of the fever, my dear; we are in the 
very heart of its empire here, and it marks with its 


192 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


stigmata not only the salt-workers or men of the 
marsh who inhabit these regions, but even the rev¬ 
enue officers, who wander, night and day, around the 
salt-works to prevent smuggling. ” 

“ Poor people ! ” murmured Renee, whose com¬ 
passionate heart felt pity for all misfortunes; “ they 
must lead a sad life here.” 

“You can judge by these specimens,” said Fred¬ 
eric, calling Rente’s attention to some five or six 
children, who at sight of the strangers came, bare¬ 
footed and in coarse garments, in single file, along 
the queyrel , or narrow embankment. 

“ Poor little ones ! ” said Ren£e, “ how thin and 
miserable they look. They are all skin and bone, 
and they have dark circles round their eyes. It 
makes one’s heart ache.” 

The little creatures now surrounded them, exam¬ 
ining them timidly, not daring to speak, but offering 
them a little bouquet, or a shell, or a salt-crystal 
forming a rude representation of a heart, or a little 
rush basket filled with appetizing fruits which were 
quite unknown to Renee. 

“ What is the name of that fruit, little one ? ” said 
Renee, pointing to the basket. 

Instead of answering the child hid, frightened, be¬ 
hind her companions. 

“ What is your name ?” asked Renee, addressing 
the eldest boy. 

* ‘ Berzile, ’ ’ answered he, looking eagerly at a fifteen- 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


193 


sous piece which the young lady had taken out of her 
pocket. 

“ And your father’s ? ” 

(C Berzile. ’ ’ 

“ And your little sister, there ? ** 

“ Manidette.” 

“ What fruit is that in her basket ? ” 

He did not understand, and only stared at her. 

“It is called sea-cabbage,” said Germaine, “ and 
is excellent, these good people say, for fever, though 
in reality it has never cured any one. But your 
French is out of place here; let me speak their own 
idiom to them.” 

And, turning to the children, Germaine spoke to 
them in the particular dialect of the Sansouire. This 
sufficed to untie their tongues: they began to chatter 
all at once, and asked a farthing each, for the love of 
God. Renee enjoyed hearing them talk, and would 
fain have gone over to examine the camelles , on the 
other side of the salt-works. But Frederic would not 
hear of it, because, he said, the mist was there, and 
the mist caused fever. 

Germaine took the bouquet, Ren£e the fruit, and 
Frederic the heart of salt; he paid royally for it, 
giving half a crown, which, together with the coin 
bestowed by the ladies, so delighted the children that 
they did not even wait to say “ Thank you,” but 
darted off, running and jumping, to bring this un¬ 
expected treasure to their parents. 


194 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


The visitors now turned back towards the tower of 
Valat, which was their place of meeting, but as they 
passed a clump of rushes Ren£e suddenly gave a 
little cry of affright. The green cluster beside her 
was agitated by the wings of a large, snow-white bird, 
which emerged with great flapping and screaming. 

“Do not be afraid; it is only a gabian," * said 
Frederic, quite unmoved. 

“ He is going to tell the good God of your charity, ” 
said Germaine; “ see how straight he flies.” 

“ One would think he was going to pierce that 
cloud,” said Rende. 

“ In fact,” said Germaine, “ these gabians fly so 
high at night that the country people say they go up 
to heaven with news of all that has passed on earth 
during the day.” 

The horses being ready, the travellers hastened to 
wrap themselves up well in shawls and cloaks, and 
got into the carriage or mounted on horseback to 
pursue their homeward way. 

It was long after nightfall when they reached the 
Commandery, a large house of gray brick surrounded 
by a palisaded courtyard.. In this courtyard bivou¬ 
acked guardians and soldiers, who had fastened their 
horses to the pickets, and, with their guns standing 
in sheaves around them, and the whole scene lit by 
the red glare of the falions, or rosin torches, lent to 


* A bird peculiar to the place. 



MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


195 


M. de Forton’s square and massive habitation the 
appearance of a fortress besieged by the enemy. 

A sergeant, in command of the men, approached to 
ask for the Commander’s orders, whilst the other 
travellers entered a large arched room where, on an 
immense oaken table, lit by two copper lamps, was 
laid out a frugal supper. The table was drawn close 
to the fireplace, where a pile of fagots crackled and 
blazed. Though it was still quite warm, Madame 
advised her guests to approach the fireplace, and 
take a cup of black coffee as an antidote against the 
damp and the malaria. 

Then she warned them, above all things, not to 
open their bedroom windows, for, said she, “ you 
will be assailed by swarms of enormous mosquitoes, 
who will give you no rest; we are quite near the 
Rhone and the rice-fields, and, besides, are just at 
the season when this plague renders such precautions 
necessary.” 

The Commander came in just then, and they all 
sat down to table, more for form’s sake than any¬ 
thing else, and did not remain there long. 

“ For,” said the master of the house, “ very early 
to-morrow morning we shall enter on a campaign. 
The trenches are dug, the enemy adroitly collected 
by our beaters in the Sansouire, and at sunrise 
we must engage in action before they have time 
to disperse. I hope, my dear Marquis,” con¬ 
tinued he, “ that you will be of our party, for I do 


196 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


not venture to ask the ladies to take part in the 
affray. ” 

“ On the contrary, we are both going. Are we not, 
Renee?” cried Germaine. “We already dream of 
laurels won, and only want to attack the enemy with¬ 
out delay.” 

“ I shall be charmed to have you present, young 
ladies,” said the Commander. “You will be as 
Venus and Pallas taking part in the war between the 
Greeks and Romans, and the Rhone will be witness 
of your exploits, as was the Scamander of those of 
the goddesses.” 

“ In that case, brother,” said Madame, rising, “ I 
think it is better for mortals and divinities alike to 
retire and get a little rest.” 

“ Th£r£sine will show you to your apartments, 
ladies,” said the Commander, “ and will wake you 
all when the moment of battle has come.” 

The chamber into which the young ladies were 
shown had only one bed, large enough for four, stand¬ 
ing high up on twisted oaken legs, surrounded by a 
huge mosquito-netting, and a canopy at the four 
corners, whence fell long green curtains, which when 
closed together made a house within a house. The 
bed was such as was then found in all the chateaux, 
so high that one had to climb into it, on either side, 
by means of an upholstered chair, so large that it 
could comfortably accommodate two. Facing it, 
just between the windows, was a table covered with 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


197 


plans and papers; some book-shelves, laden with 
books, and extending to the wainscoted ceiling. Op¬ 
posite this were some five or six cases, one of which 
specially attracted Renee’s attention. As she went 
over to look at it Germaine took up the heavy silver 
candlestick from the table and brought it nearer. 

This is the room which my learned uncle calls 
his library, and those cases contain his collections; 
that one you are looking at is the various species of 
locusts which we are going to fight. You see, there 
are none wanting: gigantea , ephippigia, grisea, verni- 
civora, viridissima , lineola, italicci, stridula, grillus 
rotarius, grillus niigratorius, etc. They are gray, 
black, green, blue, yellow, or yellow striped with 
black; each regiment has its uniform and name.” 

“ And such names, my dear! The barbarians who 
invaded Europe could not boast of any so frightful. 
But what is that, so finely written, on that piece of 
parchment in the corner of the case? ” 

“ The first record of the military history of these 
terrible locusts,” said Germaine, bringing the candle 
nearer; “ they are some verses from the Bible.” 

And she read: 

“ ‘ And the Lord said to Moses: Stretch forth thy 
hand upon the land of Egypt unto the locust, that it 
come upon it, and devour every herb, that is left 
after the hail. And Moses stretched forth his rod 
upon the land of Egypt: and the Lord brought a 
burning wind all that day and night: and when it 


198 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


was morning, the burning wind raised the locusts. 
And they came up over the whole land of Egypt. 

. . . And they covered the whole face of the earth, 
wasting all things. And the grass of the earth was 
devoured, and what fruits soever were on the trees 
which the hail had left, and there remained not any¬ 
thing that was green on the trees, or in the herbs of 
the earth, in all Egypt.’ ” * 

“ With such petty instruments,” said Renee, 
thoughtfully, “ does God accomplish the greatest 
results.” 

And she knelt down at the foot of the bed to 
say her night prayers. Next morning they were 
sound asleep when Theresine, opening the shutters, 
let a flood of light into the library; the sun, just 
ready to rush into space, was shedding its first rays 
over the horizon. In the courtyard the horses were 
pawing and neighing, and there was a great tumult 
of voices—soldiers responding to the morning call, 
guardians, already in the saddle, brandishing their 
long tridents. Amongst them all was the Com¬ 
mander, everywhere at once, giving orders, sending 
out scouts to gallop into the plain, assigning each 
one his post, or listening to the reports of the or¬ 
derlies. 

The two young girls dressed quickly and went 
down. Theresine distributed black coffee to them 


* Exodus x. 12-15. 



MARITIME CAM ARGUE. 


199 


all, the trumpet sounded the march, and the column 
of infantry and cavalry at once set out. 

The Sansouire, towards which they directed their 
course, was fully a league in length to a half league 
in breadth; it was a vast plain of salt, absolutely 
bare, in the midst of which was what was called a 
baisse, a stream in winter and a rush-bed in summer. 

The night previous the beaters had collected myr¬ 
iads of locusts, who were waiting in the long grass 
for the sun to dispel the mist and give strength to 
their half-formed wings. 

But already a long line of women and children, 
armed with pine-branches, cut off their passage 
towards the threatened point, and an immense half¬ 
circle of guardians, soldiers, and farm-hands had 
ranged themselves round the Sansouire to force the 
enemy towards the left flank of the scene of combat, 
which was closed in by a deep roubine or stream. 

It was towards this point that the leaders of the 
expedition at first proceeded. Laden with immense 
nets, called seynes or traines, came heavy carts driven 
by herdsmen and fishermen, escorted by a half score 
of fishermen of the Valcares who preceded them. 
M. de Forton ordered them to unroll the nets along 
the stream, laying them flat upon the sand, and the 
guardians, armed with their spears, to alight and 
station themselves fifteen paces apart. Marius alone 
remained on horseback, directing the operation. 

All these preparations, which Germaine and Fred- 


200 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


eric explained to her, interested Renee very much, 
while her father, to whom the idea of a battle had 
restored all his youthful ardor, brandished his riding- 
whip as if it were a sabre and, impatient of the delay, 
wanted at once to charge upon the enemy. Mean¬ 
while the sun was rising in the heavens, and the mist 
growing perceptibly thinner. 

“Forward!” cried the Commander, who, in the 
moment of action, like Turenne, became wonderfully 
cool. 

And, setting off at a gallop, he stationed himself 
at the extreme end of the half-circle, facing the 
roubine . Then, rising in his stirrups, he cried out in 
a voice of thunder: 

‘ ‘ Forward! 

Immediately each huntsman advanced, brandishing 
his long branch. But without waiting to hear more 
the Marquis, putting spurs to his horse, dashed across 
the Sansouire, waving his whip and shouting: 

“Forward, cornebleu! Who loves me follows 
me ! ” 

This charge had deplorable results. The horse 
dashed in among the rushes and so firmly imbedded 
its four feet that it stuck fast. The forward move¬ 
ment had to be stopped, and two guardians sent to 
extricate the too fiery Lord of Nyons. 

He came back a pitiful sight from his adventure; 
his long riding-coat was covered with mud, slime, 
and locusts, some of which crept into his large 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


201 


pockets, whence he drew them forth in seeking his 
handkerchief to wipe his face. Renee was somewhat 
embarrassed, and the dragoon bit his lips; but M. 
de Forton, with exquisite tact, seeing the general 
embarrassment, advanced courteously towards his 
friend, and said aloud: 

Friends, the day will be propitious. Monsieur 
le Marquis has taken some prisoners already. Let 
us continue what he has so well begun. Forward! ” 

The mist had by this time completely disappeared, 
showing distinctly the shining wings of the locusts, 
gleaming like steel in the Sansouire. Their number, 
not very great at first, increased as they approached 
the rush-beds, where they covered the ground with 
their heavy battalions. Some blows from the branches 
had at first sufficed to disperse the more tardy ones, 
but soon their numbers increased so that other means 
had to be taken, such as drums, trumpets, the dis¬ 
charge of musketry, cries and shouts. 

The frightened insects took refuge among the 
reeds, but measures had been preconcerted to drive 
them thence. Women and children, wading to their 
waists in the mire, beat the bushes with such zeal 
and so terrible a noise that the hostile army, seeing 
an open space before it, made a sortie all together on 
the roubine side. Pressed close there, bewildered 
by the noise, enveloped in dust and smoke, and 
seeing their retreat cut off by the fosse, into which 
their vanguard had already thrown themselves, they 


202 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


rose all at once, like one mass, with a sharp whistling 
sound of wings, which caused the horses to start, 
remained an instant suspended, like an opaque cloud, 
in the air, and, surrounded in the rear and on both 
flanks, made a forward movement to cross the stream. 
But at the same moment—for, an impulse given, 
these insects cannot immediately change their course 
—the fishermen and guardians, who had hitherto lain 
concealed on the other side of the stream, arose all 
at once, raising the poles upon which the nets were 
suspended, thus forming a diaphanous wall against 
which the flying squadron flung itself and became en¬ 
tangled, while the nets, falling suddenly, precipitated 
millions of them into the roubine, where they were 
drowned or crushed in an instant. 

“ Cornebleu! here is a victory in which I have 
had no part,” said the Marquis, urging his horse 
over heaps of the slain. “ I congratulate you, Com¬ 
mander.” 

” Thanks, my dear Marquis, though my victory is, 
unfortunately, such of which it may be said: 

“ * To conquer without peril and to triumph without glory,’ 

for on our side there was no bloodshed.’ 

“ Those are the best of all victories,” said Ren£e, 
gently, “ for they are tearless victories . ” 

At this graceful allusion to a memorable fact in 
Grecian history the Commander replied by a bow full 
of respectful admiration, saying: 


MARITIME CAMARGUE. 


203 


“ And this victory is the more agreeable to me, 
fair lady, that it has caused you to display, by 
chance, another of those perfections which your 
modesty would fain conceal—I mean that of rare 
learning, combined with grace and beauty.'" 

Though the first battle was so brilliant, the cam¬ 
paign extended over several weeks. The Commander 
therefore gave his orders for the next day, and the 
triumphant cavalcade returned to the Commandery, 
where breakfast awaited them, to which they did 
full justice after their early ride. 


204 


THE u FERRADE.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE “ FERRADE.” 


HE days which followed one another at Ca- 



I margue did not there, more than anywhere 
else, resemble one another. If Renee had had any 
doubts on this score, those which succeeded to that 
of the locust hunt would have dispelled the illusion. 
Germaine had, besides, predicted the sudden change 
which was soon to take place in the atmosphere, 
pointing out to her friend, just as they reached the 
Mas Rouge, on the evening of that memorable battle 
without tears, that the sun was going down in an 
ocean of fire. Not a leaf stirred upon the trees, not 
a wrinkle ruffled the surface of the stream, but the 
blue heaven was covered with jagged purple clouds, 
the flies harassed the wild horses, who ran madly 
about in the plain, the mosquitoes buzzed furiously, 
the swallows flew low with a plaintive cry, and all 
the animal creation seemed by their unwonted agita¬ 
tion to announce to each other the impending change. 

” Unless I am much mistaken,” said Germaine to 
ner friend, “ to-morrow will be a day of forced rest 


for us.’ ’ 


THE “ FERRADE. 


205 


“ Why ? ’* 

“ Because there is a maestral * or northwester 
blowing up.” 

“ Does it blow very/hard here ?” 

“ Hard enough to take the horns off a goat.” 

“Then the wind is as strong as at Avignon?” 
said Renee. 

“ Compared to ours the maestral at Avignon is a 
zephyr,” said Frederic. 

“ When it blows there, it blows very hard,” said 
Ren6e. “ I have seen it carry off tiles and blow 
down chimneys.” 

“ Here it blows houses down; in this beautiful 
Camargue of ours we never do things by halves.” 

“ It would seem so. But tell me, does it last 
here, as at Avignon, for three, six, or nine days ?” 

“ Exactly, unless it begins to blow during the 
night; in that case it lasts only till morning.” 

“ I fear it will not begin at night this time,” said 
Germaine, shaking her head. “ But, after all, it is 
better for it to come now than at any other season; 
it purifies the air and rids us of those poisonous fever¬ 
laden vapors, which grow thicker every day. You 
do not have this wind at Nyons ? ” 

“Not very much; you know it never goes up the 
valley of the Rhone farther than Provence; it is a 
real Proven 9 al.” 


* Maestral , northwest wind blowing up from the Mediterranean. 



206 


THE “ FERRADE. 


“And like all Provencals,” said Madame, with a 
smile, “ is hot-headed and good-hearted, a sort of 
benevolent bugbear, a noisy reveller, who with all 
his bluster does more good than harm.” 

“ From your portrait of it, Madame,” said Renee, 
“ I am quite disposed to like it.” 

Madame smiled, and thought: 

“ I am not surprised, for in the physical order it 
resembles what her father is in the moral.” And 
she glanced at Germaine, who, guessing her thought, 
smiled too. 

For the rest, the maestral , which is such a bugbear 
to strangers, has many friends in Provence. The 
people call it the grand mangeur de bone* because 
it dries in an instant the rain-soaked earth. They 
regard it as the best of doctors, knowing that it is 
their only protection against the ravages of fever and 
pestilence in the marshy lands where the slime, 
heated by an ardent sun, loads the air with poison¬ 
ous malaria. 

In gratitude for the signal services it renders they 
forgive its violence, though sometimes it is of long 
duration. But its sphere is limited from Valence to 
the sea; this being the only region in which it can 
be useful, an ever-watchful Providence brings it in 
existence and retains it there. 

On this occasion, however, it was during the night 


* The great mud-eater. 




THE “ FERRADE. 


207 


that this kind friend visited Camargue, but it came 
with full force. Instead of ringing discreetly at the 
door it announced its presence at the Mas Rouge by 
seizing upon a shutter which Renee had opened 
before retiring so as to be able to watch the sky, 
and using it as a knocker, with which it seemed de¬ 
termined to demolish the house. The first blow 
made Renee jump. She had just fallen into a peace¬ 
ful sleep and was far from expecting this sudden 
attack; the second aroused the whole house. An¬ 
noyed at being the cause of this disturbance, and 
wishing to put an end to it, Renee rose, lit a taper, 
and attempted to close the shutter; but as soon as 
she opened the window the wind, blowing harder 
than ever, put out the light, sent handfuls of sand 
into her face, blew papers and curtains about, and 
rattled pictures and woodwork till Renee shrank 
back in affright. 

Fortunately Th£resine, guessing in what direction 
the enemy had advanced to the assault, hastened to 
the breach, brought the shutter into subjection, lit 
her pewter lamp, restored order in the room, and 
reassured Renee, who, covered with confusion, had 
with some difficulty regained her bed. She was so 
terrified that the good Provengale tried to comfort 
her. 

And, in truth, there was every cause for fear: the 
walls of the room cracked like the planks of a tem¬ 
pest-tossed ship; the trees, violently shaken, waved 


208 


THE “ FERRADE. 


their great boughs fantastically in the light of the 
moon with a mournful sound; the wind, blowing ter¬ 
rible gales, roared, whistled, and shrieked without, 
growing calm a moment as if to take heart, and dash¬ 
ing with renewed fury against the house; the gravel 
was thrown in showers against the windows, and 
tiles were snatched from the roof and dashed to 
pieces. 

“ My God ! ’ ’ murmured Renee, “ do you not fear 
that the house will be blown down ? ” 

“ Oh ! there is no danger, Mademoiselle; the 
house has weathered many storms, and though the 
squall is brisker than usual this time, there is noth¬ 
ing to fear. The macstral knows us, and makes more 
noise than is necessary.” 

“ Still it is very frightful.” 

“ When one is not accustomed to it. But here we 
never sleep better than when it blows; it frees us 
from gnats, fever, pains, and, besides, we know that 
it is commanded to do all it does.” 

“ You are right, Madame Theresine; everything in 
nature obeys God; but, nevertheless, your country 
would be delightful were it not for this fearful wind.” 

“ And that is just the reason why it blows here, 
and nowhere else, Mademoiselle—so my grandmother 
used to tell me.” 

“ What used she tell you ? ” 

“ She said that when God created the world He 
had made Provence so beautiful, with its blue sky 


THE “ FERRADE.” 


209 


and golden sun, its silvery Rhone and its azure sea 
that, fearing lest the angels should desert heaven 
to come and live in so fair a region, He took a half 
score of mountains in his hands, and, reducing them 
to dust, covered this lovely Provence with a thick 
gray carpet. But, finding her still far more delight¬ 
ful than the rest of creation, He gave orders that the 
wind should come betimes to raise the dust; and 
the wind, which is a faithful creature of the good 
God, blows with all its might to please Him. You 
see there is nothing to be afraid of; so sleep well, 
Mademoiselle. Would you like me to stay with 
you ? ’ ’ 

“No, thanks, good Theresine,” said Renee, much 
reassured; “ I am not afraid now. I will take your 
advice and try to sleep.” 

She slept long and profoundly, rocked by the tem¬ 
pest, which continued to rage; some one had to wake 
her at breakfast-time. 

All seemed well and cheerful, and greeted each 
other with smiles; the conversation was lively, ani¬ 
mated, sparkling; the Commander seemed ten years 
younger and greeted Ren£ewith a rolling fire of com¬ 
pliments, more spirited than ever. 

“ My uncle is very amiable this morning, is he 
not ? ” said Frederic. 

“ He always is,” said Ren£e, “ but to-day unusu¬ 
ally so.” 

“ Your presence has a good deal to do with it,” 


210 


THE “ FERRADE.” 


said the officer, “ but the maestral also counts for 
something. 

“ The maestral? ” 

“Why, of course; it gives us all a little flavor. 
My grandaunt, Madame de Saint-Veran, used to 
call it the mustard of the Provencal mind.” 

“ How charming ! but I did not expect the visit 
of so boisterous a friend and was a good deal fright¬ 
ened. ” 

And she told her night’s adventure. 

“You heard it, dear,” said Germaine, “ but yo-u 
neither saw nor felt it. Let us go up to one of the 
higher windows, from which you can see all the plain, 
and you will get some idea of what its face is like.” 

They went* up to the second story to a large apart¬ 
ment that Theresine called the drying-room, where 
all the windows were carefully stuffed, and whence 
the eye could behold on one side the river, on the 
other the broad stretch of country. 

Renee stood still in astonishment. 

“ I can see nothing but smoke,” said she. 

And everything seemed in fact to have disap¬ 
peared under a thick gray cloud through which only 
a dim light penetrated: harvests, fields, reed-banks, 
streams of water and sansouires, the very sky, were 
obscured by a dense cloud of sand raised by the wind 
and kept whirling constantly. 

“Come here,” said Germaine, leading her friend 
to a window opening on the river. 


THE “FERRADE.” 


2 I I 


There the fog was less dense, and one could per¬ 
ceive the leaden waters rushing on in foamy waves, 
and dashing against the bank over the bent and deso¬ 
late reeds as if they would invade the whole island. 

This storm had something weird and uncanny about 
it. The wind made deep furrows in the dull, glassy 
waters, or crested the waves with foam, which it 
again dispersed in showers of spray; or it sent them 
straying like waifs amongst the uprooted feeds. Above 
this tumultuous disorder arose ever and anon the dull 
roar of the waves dashing upon the shore, or a strange, 
wild concert in which weird laughter, sobs or shrieks 
seeming to be wrung from Nature in her agony, was 
rendered more awful by intervals of strained silence. 
Through it all were heard the plaintive bleating of 
sheep, the long bellows of bulls, and the wild cry of 
guardians busy collecting their flocks. 

Renee remained motionless, contemplating in 
amazement these convulsions of nature. This storm, 
which raised the spirits of the Provencals, filled her 
with mingled admiration and affright. It seemed 
hard to believe that the maestral could have produced 
such effects. When she went down again to the 
drawing-room, she told Madame de Marcoiran of the 
impression made upon her. Madame laughed. 

“ It will not last for more than three days,” said the 
Commander; “the wind is strong, but not solid.” 

“Not solid!” cried the Marquis. “ Cornebleu! 
I tried to walk down to the river, and I could not 


212 


THE “FERRADE.” 


even get through the garden ; that brigand of a maes- 
tral threw sand in my eyes and shook me so that I 
could scarcely stand.” 

“No, my dear Marquis, not solid,” repeated M. de 
Forton; “ I know what I am talking about, and I can 
assure you- that when the wind comes in squalls like 
that it will not last long.” 

“ Meanwhile your crops will be destroyed.” 

“ Some ears will be beaten down, but they will raise 
their heads again, and I prefer this tempest to calm 
weather.” 

“ Your Valcares does not seem so well pleased with 
it,” said Renee. 

“She is very ungrateful, then, fair lady,” said M. 
de Forton, “ because to-day’s storm will give her an 
ample supply of locusts to feed her fish.” 

“ Why to-day’s any more than yesterday’s ?” asked 
the Marquis. 

“Because this morning our beaters will urge them 
towards the river and force them to take wing. As 
the wind is stronger than their wings and blowing in 
that direction, it will drive them in by thousands.” 

“ What! your people venture out in such weather as 
this? ” 

“Why, of course, my dear friend,” said the Com¬ 
mander, ‘ ‘ and I myself must go out presently to 
superintend their operations. If the maestral knows 
us, we must know it.” 

“ I trust it will not blow quite so hard next Tues- 


THE “FERRADE.” 


213 


day,” said Frederic, “for, if I am not mistaken, 
the great ferrade of Mourefrech is fixed for that 
day.” 

“Oh, of course,” said the Commander, “and I 
even forgot that Baron de Saint-Aignan had written 
me a very civil note asking us to be present, as well 
as our friends.” 

“We shall be delighted,” said the Marquis. “I 
have often heard of the Spanish bull-fights and am 
most curious to be present at one. As it is not the 
sort of sport for women, I suppose the young ladies 
will stay at home.” 

“Oh, most assuredly,” said Renee; “ it frightens 
me even to think of so much bloodshed.” 

“ On the contrary, my dear,” said Germaine, “we 
shall all go, and I can assure you by experience that 
you will enjoy it very much.” 

“ Do they kill the bulls? ” 

“They take good care not to kill them,” said 
Madame, “for besides being too barbarous, it would 
be such a loss to the owners.” 

“ Then these wild bulls belong to some one? ” 

“Certainly, my dear; we ourselves own some fifty 
or sixty. They are not tamed, but are left to graze 
at liberty under the eye of the guardians, and every 
herd or manade is one of the principal revenues of the 
land or marsh to which it belongs.” 

“ If these bull-fights, or ferrades, are neither a hunt 
nor a fight, what are they? ” asked the Marquis, who, 


214 


THE “FERRADE. 


less sensitive than his daughter, was disappointed at 
these replies. 

The Commander was in a talking humor; he readily 
seized his opportunity, and in a somewhat lengthy 
conference, to which Renee listened with real interest, 
he discoursed learnedly on bulls and heifers, bioulets, 
or young oxen, and vedels , or year-old calves. He 
explained the difference between a ferrade and a muse- 
lade ; the latter operation consists in weaning the 
calves by adjusting to their nostrils a wooden instrument 
so formed and so sharply pointed that the calf wounds 
the mother whenever she approaches, and is conse¬ 
quently received with such violent kicks that it is 
obliged to forego the milk, and be content henceforth 
with the grass of the salt meadows or the leaves of 
the rushes. The ferrade is a much more serious 
and difficult operation. After having separated the 
bioulets, or young bulls, from the herd, the object is 
to throw them down and mark them on the thigh with 
an iron bearing the initial or sign of the owner. 

If this account so deeply interested the guests of 
the Chateau Rouge , the news brought by a messenger 
from the Baron de Saint-Aignan was received with the 
greatest enthusiasm in the kitchen of the farm. The 
news was that the proprietor of the herd, contrary to 
custom, had extended an invitation to all the guard¬ 
ians and herdsmen of the country, not only to assist 
as spectators at the approaching ferrade , but to dispute 
with his men the prize for skill and courage. 


THE “FERRADE.” 


215 


In Camargue, except salt-workers and revenue offi¬ 
cers, the people were all bull-tamers or had been 
such; hence the only emulation amongst them was 
that of strength and skill. 

This had given rise to a great deal of jealousy among 
the guardians of each terradon, or estate—a jealousy 
which often led them on to hatred. As in the old 
heroic times, every estate had its Achilles and its 
Hector, its Dares and Entelle,* iron-framed athletes 
with broad shoulders, muscular arms, and backs of 
steel, always ready to take offence, and to measure 
their strength every time they met in village fairs, or 
even within the limits of their own pasture-lands. 

Hence, also, those extraordinary encounters where 
blows fell like hail, where fists descended cn the skulls 
like sledge-hammers, where chests resounded like an¬ 
vils, where an ardent multitude of spectators grew 
enthusiastic over the heroes, furiously applauding when 
the wrestlers closed against each other, knee against 
knee, forehead against forehead, streaming with per¬ 
spiration and covered with dust, each striving to throw 
the other. The cries become almost deafening: 
“Courage, Jean de l’Ourse!” “Take care, Meule- 
de-Moulin!” “ Zou! Zou! the herdsmen of the 
Valcares! ” “ Hold firm, Hercules of Faraman! ” 

The result of these desperate wrestling-matches was 
told at evening in all the mas, and in all the cabins for 


* Athletes mentioned in the Fifth Book of the ^Fneid. 




2 l6 


THE “FERRADE.” 


four or five leagues round, and the young girls were 
usually the most enthusiastic, lavish in exaggerated 
praise or in bitter scoffs. 

And whereas a guardian who was often victorious, 
whose name was in every mouth, might boldly ask the 
hand of one of these dark-complexioned admirers of 
strength, the vanquished, on the contrary, unless he 
wished to be ignominiously rejected, must needs go 
far to seek a wife. 

Between the guardians of the cantons of Moure- 
frech (cold muzzle), belonging to the Baron de Saint- 
Aignan, and those of the pastures of Gouyeres, the prop¬ 
erty of Madame de Marcoiran, there had long existed 
a rivalry which often found vent in scuffles between the 
herdsmen on sansouires of the Grand-Mar . Between 
these new Greeks and Trojans the subject of dispute 
was, not the beautiful eyes of Helen, but the valor 
of vtdels, bioulets , or palusins * with horns as hard as 
steel, who were committed to their charge. The Saint- 
Aignan and Marcoiran factions would attack each other 
on the slightest pretence, and if they observed a sort of 
armed neutrality, it was because their feudal lords, who 
were friends of long standing, declared that all aggres¬ 
sors, whosoever they might be, would be immediately 
driven from the domain. 

“ Tronn de Vair!” cried Jean de l’Ourse, striking 
the oaken table with his ponderous fist, “ we shall see 


* Palusin, old bull. 



THE “ FERRADE. 


217 


if Ourias of Mourefrech is sans pareil * for throwing a 
bull. ” 

“Yes, we will let him see! ” roared Couche-Dehors, 
a giant who had never slept on a bed, winter nor 
summer. “We will let the braggart see, and teach 
him, as well as Jose le Renverseur, that their bulls are 
only calves to ours; before the whole country, I will 
muzzle them as if they were lambs.” 

“ Do not be too sure, comrade,” said old Bernard, 
who was the wisest of the company; “ they have this 
advantage over you, that they know their beasts.” 

“ Nevertheless, at the races in Aigues-Mortes I 
took the cockade from their famous Etoile du Soir .” f 

“ The same day that Ourias snatched the knot of 
blue ribbons from between the horns of your Affron- 
teur ,” said Marius. 

“ Because he took me by surprise, and made use of 
treachery,” said Couche-Dehors. 

“ He would not have dared look at the tail of the 
Terrible,” cried Main-de-Fer. 

“ They never saw a real palusin except at a distance,” 
said a chorus of voices. 

The conversation was growing too animated. Th£r£- 
sine raised her hand. The guardians respected her 
authority, and were silent. 

“Let us have no more such shouting,” said she; 
“you know Madame hates noise, so be quiet. It is 


Sans pareil , without an equal. 


f Evening Star. 



THE “ FERRADE. 


2 l8 

not by sitting at a table and shouting that bulls are 
overthrown. If you are really stronger and more skil¬ 
ful than the others, you will show it on the terradon , 
spear in hand. There will be three prizes of twenty 
pounds each, and something better to drink than cold 
water. Think well of it. You have until Tuesday to 
strengthen your arms.” 

These wise words calmed the storm which had been 
ready to burst forth; but their vanity was piqued, 
and during the following days they talked of nothing 
but a complete victory over the enemy, who, on their 
part, were determined to annihilate their adversaries 
once and forever. 

Throughout Carmargue the general topic of conver¬ 
sation was the approaching contest; it was discussed at 
les Saintes, at Arles, at Saint-Gilles, and at Beaucaire, 
and the lovers of sport rubbed their hands in glee. 

The Commander, who was an intimate friend of 
M. de Saint-Aignan, made a journey from the Mas 
Rouge to the Mas Brim , two days in succession, in 
spite of the inclemency of the weather, to arrange 
with the Baron the programme of the forthcoming 
festival, for which the three most celebrated tam¬ 
bourines from Arles, Saint-Remi, and Rognonas-sur- 
Durance were engaged. It was to be rather a tourna¬ 
ment than a ferrade. Germaine could not sleep for 
thinking of it, and Renee, who was at first so little 
inclined for such a spectacle, began to share her 
friend’s impatience. 


THE “fERRADE.'’ 


219 


“ She begins to like even the bulls,” said M. de 
Forton to his sister. “You will see; we shall make 
her a real Provengale.” 

Madame smiled. 

“ I think they will be happy,” she said. 

There was not much difficulty in exciting the Mar¬ 
quis. He naturally required rather the rein than the 
spur, and his friend had to use every possible argu¬ 
ment to dissuade him from going down into the arena 
and disputing the prize with the guardians. 

The only anxiety was, whether or not the wind 
would abate. On Sunday evening it fell. The two 
following days were devoted to preparations. 

On Monday all the guardians of Mourefrech, 
mounted, spear in hand, and accompanied by their 
doundaires, scoured the plain, driving all the beasts 
indiscriminately, from the youngest calves to the oldest 
heifers, into an immense park, where they were to be 
kept till the appointed day. 

This operation took a whole day, for with these 
restless and suspicious animals it is not easily done. 

Towards evening the first groups of spectators 
arrived in carts, vehicles of all kinds, and on horse¬ 
back, and, procuring what accommodations they could 
for themselves in tents, under the more precarious 
shelter of a tree, or in a pine-grove, in the shade of 
which a species of tribune had been erected for the 
Baron and his guests, they disposed themselves to 
await sunrise. 


220 


THE “ FERRADE. ’ 


The day rose bright enough; the sky, dotted with 
tiny pink clouds, seemed like one of those curtains 
of rose silk with which the Romans covered the 
circuses, to arrest the rays of a fiery sun; the light 
sea-breeze refreshed the plants exhausted by the rude 
blasts of the maestral; all nature was in festal array. 
Afar from the plain came carriages laden with spec¬ 
tators or horsemen, all wending their way to Moure- 
frech. 

The party from the Mas Rouge comprised the 
guardians, who, with the ends of their colored hand¬ 
kerchiefs, which they wore bound round their foreheads 
under their felt hats, floating in the breeze, galloped 
away joyously on their white mares, waving their 
long forked spears, gilded by the rays of the 
sun. 

At a few paces behind these picturesque outriders, 
came the battalion of honor, consisting of the Marquis 
de Blesignan in grand array, blue coat with yellow 
buttons, silk collar and revers, white waistcoat and 
cravat, doeskin breeches, a three-cornered laced hat, 
and soft leather shoes with silver spurs; the Com¬ 
mander, all in black, except his lace cravat; his 
nephew, in full uniform heavy with embroideries; 
and the two young girls, dressed alike in the Provengal 
fashion: a skirt of sky-blue silk, embroidered in 
silver, and corsage of black velvet with wide lace 
sleeves, matching their neckerchiefs, and their hair 
brought in bands over the forehead, and caught in the 


THE lt FERRADE. ” 


221 


back in a chignon, confined by a broad blue ribbon 
fastened at the side by gold pins. 

In this Provencal costume, worn to please her 
friend, and manufactured by Theresine’s fairy fingers, 
Renee was truly lovely. M. de Forton, on seeing 
her, cried out: 

“ Oh, Mademoiselle, I pity the mirror which, after 
having presided at your toilet, should be doomed to 
reflect your image no more till you return from the 
festivity where you will be queen.” 

“ Cornebleu! ” said the Marquis, proud of his 
daughter’s beauty, “I begin to think that your true 
vocation is to become a Camarguaise.” 

These imprudent words brought a cloud to Rente’s 
face, and she cast a gentle look of reproach at her 
father. 

Germaine, on whom not the slightest shade of 
manner was lost, skilfully changed the subject, and 
sought by her gayety to do away with the effects of 
that unfortunate remark. 

Happily, circumstances favored her efforts, and 
Renee’s attention was diverted by the strange spec¬ 
tacle presented by the salt meadows, over which 
numbers of young men, arrayed in their best, rode 
their white horses with wonderful ease, sometimes 
having wife or sister, dressed in resplendent costume, 
behind them on the crupper. They all hurried on, 
urged by the one absorbing thought. 

As they approached the place set apart for the 


222 


THE “ FERRADE. 


ferrade , which was indicated by a long line of carts 
closely packed one against the other and for the 
most part covered with canvas, the bustle increased, 
the groups of people became larger and more noisy, 
whilst at the foot of almost every tree little fires 
were lighted, to prepare the coffee without which 
there can be no festivity in Provence. 

As soon as the appearance of the guardians an¬ 
nounced the arrival of the Marcoiran family, a little 
group of people came forward from the pine-grove to 
meet them. The group consisted of the Baron de 
Saint-Aignan, a man of distinguished appearance, his 
wife, and their children, a young girl of fifteen or 
sixteen, and two boys, aged respectively twelve and 
thirteen. After introductions and mutual greetings 
they all returned to the pine-grove, Mile. Aloyse de 
Saint-Aignan riding beside Renee and wearing a 
costume so exactly similar to those of her two new 
companions that it was evident Theresine had be¬ 
trayed them. They soon reached the pine-grove. 
Renee expected to see the bulls already there, and 
was astonished, on entering a space closed in on 
either side by carts laden with spectators, to find it 
entirely empty except about the centre, in front of 
the tribune, where there were a lighted furnace and 
marking - irons with wooden handles. This space 
opened at either end into a bare and desert plain. 

“ I thought the bulls would be collected here,” said 
Ren£e, looking all round. 


THE “ FERRADE.” 


223 


“ They are collected since yesterday evening,” an¬ 
swered Mile. Aloyse, “but the gates of the park in 
which they are confined are kept shut.”^ 

“ Is the park near here ? ” 

“ You can see it, about a quarter of a league from 
here,” said Mile. Saint-Aignan, “there, where my 
whip is pointing.” 

“ That large black spot ? ” 

“That spot is the bulls; nearer you can distinguish 
the palisade which prevents them escaping; and those 
horsemen galloping round are the guardians.” 

“At what time does the ferrade begin?” asked 
Germaine. 

“As soon as we have breakfasted, Mademoiselle,” 
said the Baron, reining in his horse at the entrance to 
a large tent under which was spread a table profusely 
decorated with green. 

They all dismounted, the servants taking the horses; 
and, after new greetings, for in that rustic hall were 
already collected about thirty of the most aristocratic 
people of the vicinity, all seated themselves round the 
sumptuously-appointed table. 

The three young ladies were much surprised when 
they were led to the seats of honor opposite their 
hosts. Their places were marked by three large bou¬ 
quets, tied with red and blue ribbons, the colors of the 
two families; and they were still more astonished, even 
Mile. Aloyse, from whom the secret had been care¬ 
fully kept, when they heard themselves proclaimed by 


224 


THE “ FERRADE. 


the Baron judges of the ferrade and the distributors 
of the prizes to the winners. 

“For our little entertainment to-day,” said the 
Baron graciously, “ by an exception made in honor of 
Mile, de Blesignan’s presence in our savage island, is 
a sort of tourney, wherein the guardians of the Mas 
Rouge and the Mas Brim will dispute the palm for 
strength, courage, and agility before all these spec¬ 
tators.” 

This was said graciously and was warmly applauded. 
After a repast, which was as pleasant as it was abun¬ 
dant, the guests repaired to the tribune, where three 
sofas had been provided for the young ladies. The 
multitude cried “ Bravo! ” as Mile, de Bl£signan took 
her place, not without a certain emotion, between her 
two companions and waited till it was time to give the 
signal. 

“ Will you wave this little flag ?” said the Baron, 
giving her one of striped blue and red silk. 

The young girl did as requested. Immediately the 
drums and fifes struck up, the space was cleared as if 
by magic, and none remained but a half score of guar¬ 
dians, the wearers of blue just below the tribune, the 
red facing them. They wore jackets of soft leather 
with short sleeves, leaving their brawny arms bare and 
showing their powerful muscle; their waists were 
tightly fastened by red or blue scarfs; their legs were 
bare, their feet sandalled. 

Every one was familiar with the names of these 


THE “ FERRADE.’ 


225 


men. On the red side there were Ourias, called 
“Sans Pared” ; Jos£ le Renverseur, the “Serpent of 
the Sansouire ”; the “ Rocher du Rhone ” and the 
“Viper of the Tamarisks.” On the blue side were 
Jean de l’Ourse, “ Couche-Dehors,” “ Main-de-Fer,” 
“ the Arab,” and “ Trompe-la-Mort,” all kings of the 
land, all heroes of these saline steppes, who, according 
to the number which they drew, were, in turn, to 
attack and overthrow the enemy. 

The gate of the enclosure was opened, and the 
herdsmen sent forth one of the prisoners chosen in 
advance. He was a young animal, a bioulet, as black 
as jet, with sharp horns and thin legs. He gave a cry 
of delight, and set off at full speed, with head down¬ 
ward, believing that he was on his way to his solitary 
pasture. But he had left the guardians out of the 
reckoning. Quick as lightning two of them darted off 
in pursuit and, circling round him, seized with infalli¬ 
ble precision one of his horns in their iron spears, and 
forced him into the arena. When he had reached 
there the animal hesitated, fearing a snare, but, pricked 
by the spears, finally rushed forward. 

Who would dare to stop him? He was passing the 
tribune at full gallop, when the Viper, with a shrill 
whistle, sprang forward like a leopard, crying: 

“ The irons! ” 

Ren£e had not time to distinguish anything; she 
only saw the bull lying on the sand, held motionless 
by the guardian, who had him by the horn. The 


226 THE “ FERRADE.” 

marker advanced, and pressed upon the flank of the 
vanquished the red fiery mark which burned the seal of 
servitude into his white coat. Then the Viper unloosed 
him, saluted and retired, whilst the bull, humiliated, 
rose slowly, and went, without even daring to look 
around him, to hide his shame in the depth of solitude. 
The crowd applauded, and the victor, casting a defiant 
glance at the blues, sat down and folded his arms. 
Just then a second bull appeared. Jean de l’Ourse 
did not spring forward, but advanced leisurely, his left 
hand on his hip; and, regarding the animal with a 
smile of contempt, he leaned his right hand heavily on 
one of the bull’s horns, at the same time tripping him 
up. It needed no more. 

“ Mark him!” he said quietly. 

Then, the iron having been applied, the guardian 
released his prisoner and retired, shrugging his shoul¬ 
ders. 

The reds were furious at this contemptuous treat¬ 
ment of one of their bioulets by the terrible Jean de 
l’Ourse, who braved them thus on their own terradon , 
and at the plaudits of the multitude, who were good 
judges of such matters. 

“They have not won yet,” growled Ourias to 
Rocher du Rhone. “After the bioulets we will, if 
needs be, bring out the palusins ; there are five or six 
not yet marked. It will be risking bur lives, but they 
will have to risk theirs, and at the worst—” 

“It is your turn, Jos6, here is the bull.” 


THE “ FERRADE. 


227 


The Renverseur did not need this intimation. He 
was already upon his guard. The animal was brilliantly 
overthrown, marked, and, like his comrades, he fled 
into the desert, bearing the insignia of servitude upon 
him. 

Deeply moved, and terrified at first, Ren<§e, seeing 
the apparent facility with which these giants on either 
side overthrew the bulls, had at last persuaded herself 
that it was the simplest thing in the world. The 
whole process apparently consisted in keeping to one 
side, to avoid the shock of the animal’s approach, 
seizing him by both horns, striking the bull’s left leg 
with the knee, pressing upon his left horn, and pulling 
violently on the right so that he lost his equilibrium, 
and the thing was done. 

By the time the sixth bull arrived Ren6e began to 
find the performance, so often repeated, very monoto¬ 
nous, and the odor from the hides anything but agree¬ 
able. She was much more interested in admiring the 
dress of the mounted guardians, who circled about with 
their lances, to bring back the prisoners, and she 
heartily applauded the truly marvellous agility dis¬ 
played by Marius, Ther£sine’s husband. Disdaining 
to enter the arena, where he would be matched against 
his inferiors, he circled in and out among the bulls on 
his snow-white mare, catching their horns upon the 
point of his spear with indescribable ease. Every one 
remarked him, so strong was the contrast between his 
grace and the brutal strength of the guardians, who 


228 


THE “ FERRADE.” 


were skilful and excellent horsemen, but far from 
equalling him. 

The Baron de Saint-Aignan, amongst others, ob¬ 
served and applauded him, complimenting the Com¬ 
mander on his appearance, for it was pretty generally 
known that he was the Commander’s adopted son. 

“ Cornebleu! ” said the Marquis, “knights in 
tented field never wielded the lance better in their 
tourneys. It is a pity that fine lad is not a corporal 
of a cavalry regiment; he would be an excellent 
instructor.” 

Ourias heard all that was said, and foamed with 
rage. “ Troun de 1'air" muttered he, between his 
teeth, “ wait till the palusins come, and we shall see.” 

At last the palusins came. The gate of the en¬ 
closure was thrown open, to give passage to a full- 
grown bull, with long horns and fierce aspect, who 
immediately rushed at Marius. The intrepid overseer 
recognized in him a foeman worthy of his steel; instead 
of flying or avoiding him, he steadied himself in his 
stirrups, put lance in rest, and waited. 

With an animal of this size, when he attacked, there 
was no hope of turning aside and seizing him by the 
horn. The points of the spear were buried in the hide 
of the savage beast, who drew back with a roar, shook 
his head furiously, as if to free himself from the 
pricking, which had already marked his hide with two 
thin streams of blood. The shock was so terrible that 
the mare was almost overthrown, and the lance was 


THE “ FERRADE.” 


229 


shivered like a piece of glass. As if he understood 
that his enemy was disarmed, the monster rushed 
upon him. But Marius was prepared. In the palusin 
that Jean de l’Ourse was to overthrow, and he to 
bring back to the enclosure, he had recognized the 
Etoile du Soir , the strongest and fiercest beast in the 
herd. 

Ourias had kept his word, and revenged himself by 
an act of treachery. It was he who had given the 
signal to which the guardians of Mourefrech had gladly 
responded, for the blues must be, at all hazards, 
ignominiously defeated. 

The spectators had soon discovered what they sup¬ 
posed to be an accident, occurring by mistake; they 
all stood up, upon the carts, to have a better view. 
As it was impossible to struggle against his adversary, 
Marius was flying before him, making his horse per¬ 
form a series of evolutions to avoid the attacks of the 
Etoile du Soir , who, with head streaming blood, hair 
bristling, and tail erect, made the sand fly under his 
hoofs of iron. 

However, Trupheme, seeing the danger which 
Marius was in, urged his steed forward, and flew to 
his assistance. 

“ Your lance,” cried Marius, “ and be near to hand 
me others.” 

Trupheme obeyed, and gave it to him. Then 
Marius, who had lost both his handkerchief and hat, 
and whose black hair was waving in the wind, stopped 


230 


THE “ FERRADE.” 


his horse again, and struck the bull in the fore¬ 
head. 

Dazzled by the steel, and stunned by the blow, the 
animal fell upon his knees, but at once arose. The 
terrible spear whistled again through the air, and the 
black giant, giving up the encounter, tried to fly in 
his turn. But his efforts were vain; Marius, almost 
standing in his stirrups, his face pale, his eyes flashing 
fire, like the veteran bull-tamer he was, showered re¬ 
peated and terrible blows upon him. 

The enthusiasm reached its height when the pris¬ 
oner, forced to obey, appeared at the entrance of the 
arena. The Baron, fearing some accident, had already 
given orders that the way be cleared for the furious 
beast. All obeyed except Jean de l’Ourse, whose turn 
it was. 

“ Go away! Go away! ” cried hundreds of voices. 

“ I forbid you to mark this beast! ” cried the Baron. 

“Come back! Come back!” cried Frederic, Ger¬ 
maine, and the Commander. 

But he never stirred. Crouching down like a tiger 
about to spring, his eyes bloodshot, he watched for 
his enemy, who, scenting him, pawed the sand and, 
lashing his tail, concentrated all his fury on this new 
adversary, showing his white star, already marked by 
a spear-stroke, between his smooth, bent, dagger-like 
horns. 

“ Escape! escape! You will be killed! ” cried the 
multitude. 


THE “ FERRADE. 


231 


All at once an angry roar was heard, and the black 
mass rushed forward. 

He will be killed ! he will be killed ! ” cried 
Renee, closing her eyes. At last she ventured to 
open them. 

Amid a cloud of dust she could perceive the bull, 
with the man hanging on to his horns; together they 
formed an indistinct mass, which rose and fell, fell and 
rose alternately. The roars of the furious beast were 
mingled with the hoarse breathing of the man. To 
separate them, to lend any succor, were “equally im¬ 
possible. In attempting to attack the beast it would 
be hard to avoid killing the man. 

Suddenly a cry, thrilling as a clarion note, broke 
from the spot which was ploughed by the feet of the 
adversaries. The black bulk was seen to fall, and 
Jean de l’Ourse was descried lying prone on the head 
of the overthrown bull, which he now held down by 
the sheer weight of his body, and roaring: 

“ The irons ! the irons ! ” 

No one dared to approach, till Marius, leaping from 
his horse, rushed to the furnace, seized a red-hot 
iron, and marked the beast on the forehead, just 
above his white star. 

Then there was a tempest of applause, and shouts 
of enthusiastic admiration ; a shower of hats came into 
the arena, ladies waved their handkerchiefs. The 
excitement bordered on frenzy, and was redoubled 
when Jean de l’Ourse, his clothes in tatters, his face 


23 2 


THE “ FERRADE. 


covered with blood, and his rough hair in disorder, 
advanced, supported by Marius and Trupheme, to 
receive the well-won prize. 

Victory declared entirely for the blues, they re¬ 
tired triumphant, whilst Ourias, spurring his horse, 
rushed off alone into the fields, furious and vowing 
vengeance. 

“Well, my child, did you enjoy it?” asked Ma¬ 
dame of Ren£e when they got home that evening. 

“ Oh, Madame,” said she, in a voice of deep emo¬ 
tion, “ I am not born for such pleasures, and I still 
tremble at all that I saw.” 


233 


“man proposes, god disposes. 1 '* 


CHAPTER IX. 

“MAN proposes, god disposes.** 

N EVER had time seemed to fly for Ren£e as it 
did during these three weeks at the Chateau 
Rouge; the days seemed literally to have wings. 

When they were not taken up by pleasure-parties, 
or little excursions prepared by the Commander, they 
were spent quite as pleasantly at the house, or in a 
little boat which Germaine was teaching her friend 
to manage. The whole family improved on acquaint¬ 
ance. Madame de Marcoiran, who was kindness 
itself, combined with a rare elegance of manner a 
charming graciousness, which made her beloved by 
all who approached her. Frederic, too, was good- 
tempered, sprightly, and lovable as well as clever, 
uniting the brilliant qualities of the head to the more 
solid ones of the heart. On first acquaintance the 
Commander might seem slightly absurd, and his po¬ 
liteness exaggerated; but, knowing him better, and 
finding him a man of the highest culture and a really 
interesting talker, it was easy to forgive his little 
peculiarities. Germaine was, of course, Renee’s 
bosom-friend, and in her eyes perfection. 


234 


MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES. 


The Marquis congratulated himself heartily on the 
success of his friend’s policy. 

“ Cornebleu ! my dear Forton,” said he, “ it is to 
you I owe the happiness of driving those convent 
ideas out of my daughter’s head, and of saving her 
life, I really believe, she has gained so much in 
strength and freshness since she came here; but yet, 
you know, I go straight to the point, and this affair, 
so well begun, must be ended, and the sooner the 
better, as our stay has been already unreasonably 
long and beyond the bounds of delicacy.” 

“ You are in too great a hurry, my dear Blesignan. ” 

“ No, no; strike while the iron’s hot.” 

“ Do you think it is very hot, Marquis ? ” 

“ Certainly ! Your nephew is a splendid fellow, 
and suits me in every respect; with a fine name and 
moderate fortune, which is always an advantage in a 
father’s eyes, he combines the manners and appear¬ 
ance of a finished gentleman, which is always a great 
deal in a daughter’s eyes. Now that they know 
each other I really do not see that there can be the 
slightest objection.” 

“ I hope so myself,” said the Commander, “ but 
I would rather be sure.” 

‘ ‘ There is a way, cornebleu ! * ’ 

“ What is that?” 

“ Let your nephew come and ask my daughter’s 
hand.” 

“ Permit me a remark, my dear Marquis. Besides 


235 


“ MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES.*’ 

that it would be a manifest impropriety on the Chev¬ 
alier’s part to ask the hand of a lady who is on a 
visit with his mother, you must remember what un¬ 
pleasantness would result thence in our friendly rela¬ 
tions to each other if Mile, de Blesignan should think 
proper to refuse him.” 

“You are right; you think of everything, and 
your objection is well founded. But what is to be 
done, then ? ” 

“ Your charming daughter must be sounded as deli¬ 
cately as possible, asked what she would think of 
such an alliance, have its advantages represented to 
her, and the question put confidentially how she 
would receive such a proposal if it should chance to 
be made—a thing which would not be very surpris¬ 
ing, after a stay long enough for the Chevalier 
* > 

to— 

The Commander stopped. M. de Blesignan bit 
the end of his whip, which was always a sign of agi¬ 
tation with him; at last he burst out: 

“ All that is very fine,” said he; “ only, who is to 
undertake this confidential mission ? ” 

“ To tell the truth, my dear friend, I think it de¬ 
volves upon you.” 

“ Upon me ? But I have not a grain of diplomacy 
about me.” 

“ You wrong yourself, I am sure; besides, you are 
her father, and your authority—” 

“ She does just what she likes with me.” 


236 “man proposes, god disposes.” 

“Yet you are a man of strong will and uncommon 
energy of character.” 

“With others, very true; but with my daughter 
quite the reverse. Oh, if she were a boy, cornebleu ! 
I would make her walk straight; and if she attempted 
to kick I would teach her obedience and respect 
with this,” said the Marquis, shaking his cane signifi¬ 
cantly. 

“ I do not doubt it in the least, my good friend,” 
said M. de Forton, “ but she is not a boy.” 

“ Of course not ! of course not ! But have you 
spoken to the Chevalier yet about our plans ? ” 

“No; I took good care not to say a word to 
him.” 

“ Well, when I have spoken, if he should not care 
to—” 

“ A thousand pardons if I interrupt you, my dear 
friend,” said the Commander, “ but there will be no 
obstacle on Frederic’s part, I can assure you. I can 
answer for him, and you may be certain that what¬ 
ever wife his mother and I do him the honor to select 
for him, even though she be not, like Mile, de B16- 
signan, the most accomplished person in the world, 
he will accept unhesitatingly.” 

The Marquis sighed. 

“ Ah,” murmured he, “ that is what they should 
have taught her at the convent, instead of putting 
it into her head that it was for her to decide upon 
her own vocation, and telling me that if I refused her 


MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES.” 


237 


to the cloister God would take her from me in one 
way or another.” 

The Commander was not a very profound theo¬ 
logian, and openly declared the superior’s words to 
be most imprudent; then, cutting all further digres¬ 
sion short, he proved to his friend by unanswerable 
arguments that he must absolutely make up his mind 
to question his daughter before her good impressions 
of the place had been dispelled by her return to 
Nyons. The Marquis was really of the same opin¬ 
ion ; besides, he believed his daughter favorably dis¬ 
posed, and much preferred to deal with this thorny 
question under such auspicious circumstances; only 
that he was not quite as completely convinced of all 
this as he chose to appear, and so tried to create 
difficulties for himself. Forced from his last intrench- 
ments by the Commander, he still thought of a means 
of escape. 

fi Comebleu ! ” said he, fairly driven to the wall, 
“ I will speak to her, of course; but she is never 
alone with me here, and to talk of such serious 
things— 

“ You are right; I understand perfectly that you 
want to be able to discuss the matter calmly and 
without fear of interruption, a difficult thing enough 
when—” 

“ Say impossible, Commander, impossible ! ” cried 
the Marquis, clutching at this last straw. 

“ Will you speak to her to-morrow ? ” 


238 


MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES. 


“ To-morrow will be no different from to-day.” 

“ The weather is fine; you can use the pretext of 
a visit to the Mas Brun .” 

“ But the Chevalier and Mile. Germaine will go 
with us.” 

“ I will arrange a hunting excursion for my nephew 
with Marius, under pretence that we are out of game, 
and that Mile, de Blesignan would like to have some 
bustard, which she has never tasted.” 

“ And Mile. Germaine ?” 

“ Her mother will need her at the last moment.” 

“ But,” said the Marquis, making a last desperate 
effort to escape, il neither Renee nor I know the way 
to the Mas Brun." 

“ I will send a shepherd to show you the way. He 
will not understand French, and will, besides, keep a 
hundred paces behind or in front. Shall it be to¬ 
morrow morning ? ” 

“ Renee has done so much this week I fear it will 
fatigue her.” 

“ The day after to-morrow, then ? ” 

“ Very well; the day after to-morrow.” 

“ So it is agreed.” 

There was no gainsaying it, the Marquis still hoped 
for some contretemps; but with the Commander he 
reckoned without his host. 

“ Mademoiselle, I hope by to-morrow evening to 
bring you home a bustard; since you have never 
tasted it, I want to make you acquainted with this 


MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES. 


239 


a 


really excellent game,” said Frederic, in the most 
natural way possible, little suspecting the part he was 
playing. 

“Then you are going out shooting?” asked 
Renee. 

“ My uncle has kindly given me permission to shoot 
in the rice-fields belonging to the Commandery with 
Marius, who is a splendid shot, and upon whose skill 
I count more than upon my own. We shall be very 
unfortunate if, with the weather we are having, we 
do not succeed.” 

“The fact is,” said Madame, “that there could 
not be finer weather; and if you, Marquis, will permit 
me to offer a suggestion, and since you are thinking 
of paying the Saint-Aignans a visit, I would advise 
you by all means to take advantage of the opportu-^ 
nity to ride over to the Mas Brun. I suppose you 
will not be frightened at the idea, dear child,” she 
added, addressing Renee; “ there is not a ferrade 
every day, you know.” 

“ I shall be delighted, Madame, especially if Ger¬ 
maine can come with us.” 

“ Ah, to-morrow I cannot promise you Germaine; 
I shall need her all day, and that is one reason I sug¬ 
gested this visit, because I am afraid you will find it 
very lonely here without her. ” 

“ But, father, if you have not really decided upon 
to-morrow, we can put off our visit till Germaine is 
free.” 


240 


“ MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES. 1 


“ But what will you do alone most of the day, my 
dear ? ” 

“ I will wander about in the neighborhood, Ma¬ 
dame, or read and write.” 

44 A couple of hours’ ride along the Valcares will 
do you a great deal more good, fair lady,” inter¬ 
rupted the Commander, who saw that the Marquis 
was already wavering. 

** I will be your guide, if you will allow me,” cried 
Frederic. 

“ No, no,” said Renee, laughing, “ you promised 
me the bustard for to-morrow evening, and I will 
keep you to your word; besides, as long as we follow 
the Valcares it is impossible to lose our way.” 

From the moment that Renee herself entered into 
the conspiracy the Marquis lost hope, and made up 
his mind to make the best of an affair from which he 
saw no means of escape. He spent the rest of the 
day in a state of feverish suspense. The night was 
still worse; he vainly tried to sleep, that he might 
forget; but scarcely did he close his eyes than the 
words of the abbess would ring in his ears: 

If you dispute her with God, He can take her 
from you. ” 

And yet he had not strength to give her up. This 
interior struggle lasted all night; he would fain have 
put off the test, but he had gone too far to draw 
back now. In the morning he tried to stir himself 
up. 


MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES. 


24I 


(( 


“ Cornebleu ! ” said he, “it is really too absurd 
that the Marquis de Blesignan, who commanded His 
Majesty’s gendarmes and faced the cannon a score 
of times, cannot make his own daughter obey him, 
any more than if he were a little tradesman. M. de 
Marcoiran will be a splendid husband for her. I am 
her father; she shall marry him, and he shall be my 
son-in-law. Cornebleu ! if it distresses the abbess of 
St. Praxeda, let her look for consolation somewhere 
else, cornebleu! that is all.” 

This heroic resolve flattered his vanity. He went 
out of his room and downstairs to show M. de For- 
ton that he was a man who was determined to act 
energetically. Unfortunately he met Ren£e on the 
stairs. She was going out to Mass. She looked at 
him with her gentle, affectionate glance, said a few 
words, and kissed his hand respectfully. His indom¬ 
itable resolve was shaken at once. Furious with 
himself, he went back to his room, saying: “ I can 
never speak to her.” He could have beaten himself, 
so angry was he at his own weakness. Breakfast- 
hour came; never was the sky more pleasantly clouded 
over, never was Renee gayer. 

“ Frederic will have a splendid day for shooting,” 
said Germaine; “ it is not too hot, there will be a sea- 
breeze, and you will have glorious weather for your 
ride.” 

Breakfast over, they all spent an hour or so to¬ 
gether. The Commander related various anecdotes 

O 


242 


MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES. 


<( 


in his very best style, and he was just in the midst 
of an adventure upon the sea, of which he had been 
the hero, when Theresine came to say that the horses 
were waiting. The two friends exchanged an an 
revoir, and, refusing to take any guardian with them, 
arguing that they had only to keep the river in sight, 
the Marquis and his daughter set off. 

They at first turned to the right, riding along by 
the river; but in about half an hour, wearied by the 
mosquitoes, which swarmed near the water and tor¬ 
mented their horses, they diverged in the direction 
of the great rush-beds, where Renee wanted to gather 
some flowers she had seen in a previous ride. As 
this field seemed near at hand and as they still kept 
the Valcares in sight, the Marquis, who had not yet 
found courage to broach the all-important question, 
made no objection to his daughter’s wish. 

“ Some of those yellow daisies, which they call 
fleurs cTamour," * said Renee; “with some branches 
of red saltwort, and clusters of tamarisk, will be a 
beautiful decoration for the altar of Notre Dame 
d’Amour. ” 

“ Why, I really think you are beginning to like 
Camargue, ” said her father. 

“It is a lovely country, very curious and quite 
delightful,’’ said Renee. 

“ The Marcoirans are very agreeable, too.” 


* Love-flowers. 



243 


“man proposes, god disposes.” 

“ Charming, kind, unaffected, witty, amiable, and 
lively.” 

Do you really like them ? ” 

I would be hard to please if I did not.” 

“ Madame and her daughter are very superior peo¬ 
ple; and my friend the Commander is a thoroughly 
well-bred man.” 

“ And an interesting talker,” said Renee. 

“ The Chevalier is a fine fellow, too.” 

“ Yes; gay, clever, and of a splendid disposition, 
which, as Germaine says, is always the same.” 

“ His wife will be a fortunate woman,” said the 
Marquis, as if talking to himself. 

“ Oh, indeed, I think she will,” said Renee, in¬ 
nocently. 

Just then the tinkle of a bell caused them to turn 
their heads. It was Ourias, who came at a gallop, 
followed b)' his tame bull, a superb beast with long 
horns, which he called Ralliement . As he passed 
them, the guardian called out something in a rude, 
imperious voice, pointing to the Mas Rouge; he then 
pursued his way across the meadows, looking from 
right to left, and finally, turning to the left, rode on 
towards a distant pine-grove. 

“ Decidedly, that half-savage guardian keeps spite 
against us for his defeat in the late ferrade , ” said 
Renee, smiling. 

“ To the devil with the blockhead ! ” thought the 
Marquis; “ I was master of the situation, and now I 


244 


MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES. 


must dig again to reach the fortress and begin the 
assault. ” 

They were quite close to the rush-bed, when, 
through a rent in the clouds, a shower of rays from 
the scorching sun fell upon the dazzling Sansouire, 
and suddenly illumined the plain, already much 
heated during the preceding days. The effect pro¬ 
duced was so singular, the transformation so com¬ 
plete, that involuntarily the travellers stopped to 
observe it. 

“ Oh, what an extraordinary thing ! ” said Renee. 
“ I never remarked that lake before.” 

“ What lake do you mean ? ” 

“This one, of course,” said she, pointing out to 
her father a large blue and mirror-like surface, on the 
banks of which, through a grove of tall trees, could 
be seen a yellowish rock, surmounted by a church. 

The Marquis was dumfounded. 

“ Les Saintes ! ” cried he. “ Why, that is les 
Saintes! There are the church, the sea, and the 
fishing-boats.” 

“Impossible!” cried Renee; “and the proof is 
that here is the Valcares, and yonder the Chateau 
Rouge —and yet that is les Saintes, for I recognize 
it too.” 

“ Why, it is a mirage ! ” cried the Marquis, all at 
once. “ The Commander told me that such phe¬ 
nomena are not infrequent here during the warm 
weather; but certainly it is not very easy to find 


“ MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES.” 245 

one's way in a country where changes like this 
occur.” 

“ I often heard of mirages,” said Ren£e, “ but I 
thought they were only some vague, misty, fleeting 
images, like the cloud-palaces, that rise and crumble 
away again in the heavens, twenty times in the course 
of an hour.” 

“ The fact is, this mirage is as clear as reality; it 
is incredible that our eyes could so deceive us.” 

“ Let us go nearer, to see at what distance it van¬ 
ishes,” said Ren£e. 

They galloped in its direction; but without losing 
anything of its clearness, it receded as they ap¬ 
proached. So curious were they that they spurred on 
their horses without perceiving that they had gone a 
considerable distance. Suddenly town, rock, and sea 
disappeared like a candle blown out; the sun’s rays 
suddenly overclouded, their effect was at an end. 
Then only did the riders perceive how far they had 
gone, and turned their white horses back toward the 
rush-beds, for they could no longer see the Valcares. 

“ It is an ill wind that brings us no good,” thought 
the Marquis; “ here, at least, we will not be inter¬ 
rupted.” And he turned the conversation back to 
the Marcoirans. 

Renee’s mind was so far from any thought of set¬ 
tling in Camargue that to a very transparent ques¬ 
tion of her father’s she replied: 

“ I am the better pleased to have come now, be- 


246 “man proposes, god disposes.*’ 

cause I would probably never have seen Camargue, 
for there is not much likelihood that I shall ever 
return here.” 

“ Unless we settle here for good and all,” said her 
father. 

Renee laughed. 

“ Were you thinking of transporting your chateau 
of Nyons here ? ” she asked. 

“ If you were settled here, it would suffice to trans¬ 
port ourselves,” said her father, gravely. 

He said this in such a way that Ren£e regarded 
him with some anxiety. 

‘‘ I do not understand,” she said. 

“ I mean,” said he, “ that if you were to marry 
here—to marry the Chevalier, for instance.” 

“I marry?” she cried. ‘‘Oh, father, do not 
speak of such a thing; you know very well it is not 
my vocation.” 

“ A young girl’s vocation is to obey her parents; 
I do not believe in any other,” said the Marquis. 

‘‘Yet if something tells me here,” said Renee, 
laying her hand upon her heart, “ that I should con¬ 
secrate myself to God, must I not obey my con¬ 
science ? ” 

“ And do you think, Mademoiselle, that this 
something, which is merely the effect of convent 
nonsense, should cause you to dispute your father’s 
will ?” 

Renee was not accustomed to such severity from 


U MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES.** 247 

her father; she hung her head, and large tears gath¬ 
ered in her eyes. 

The Marquis grew more determined as he talked. 
He continued, with a calmness belied by the trem¬ 
bling of his voice: 

“ I do not know what the intentions of M. Frederic 
de Marcoiran’s relatives may be; but if, as it may 
happen, they do me the honor to ask your hand, I 
warn you that, in spite of the absurdities with which 
the abbess at St. Praxeda has filled your head, I 
shall consider it my duty to accept so advantageous 
a proposal.” 

Renee’s heart swelled. It was the first time she 
had ever been spoken to in such a manner. 

“Do you understand?” said the Marquis, in a 
tone of still greater severity. 

She looked at him with an expression of sorrowful 
submission, and answered: 

“ If such are your positive commands, father, I 
will obey them. I would rather my life should be 
unhappy than that I should disobey you. But re¬ 
member what I tell you, that you will bring down 
misfortune upon us by thus opposing the designs of 
Providence.” 

These simple words made him shudder. He felt 
a certain hesitation, perhaps even remorse, but self- 
love was stronger. 

Meanwhile they were fearfully anxious at the Mas 
Rouge . Frederic was returning more than an hour 


248 


MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES. 


earlier than he had expected, when, at some distance 
from the chateau, he met Jean de l’Ourse, who said 
to him: 

“ Beware, Monsieur le Chevalier, that bad herds¬ 
man Ourias has let the Etoile da Soir , the bull which 
I marked, escape; he is looking for him everywhere 
in the Sansouire. It would not be safe to meet 
him.” 

” Thank you,” said the officer; “ but Marius and 
I will have our guns loaded, and if the bull appears, 
we will receive him in good style.” 

Then he went on, thinking no more of the news, 
because he supposed that every one was safe in the 
house. The first person he met was the Commander, 
who was anxiously awaiting his friend’s return. 

“ I have brought back two splendid bustards,” 
said the young officer, “ and I am going to present 
them to Mile, de Blesignan. I hope she will be sat¬ 
isfied that I have kept my promise.” 

“ Well done ! ” said M. de Forton, “ and I am 
sure that charming young lady will be very much 
pleased when she returns.” 

‘‘ Why, has she gone out ? ” 

“ Some hours ago.” 

“ In what direction ?” inquired the young officer, 
turning pale. 

‘‘To the Mas Brim with her father; you remember 
they were to go. I am surprised they are not back 
yet.” 


MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES.” 


249 


“ Then they will have to cross the Sansouire. God 
of heaven! who is with her ? 

“ Her father.” 

“ Only her father ? ” 

“ Certainly; what is astonishing in that ? ” 

Nothing but that the Etoile du Soir, the fiercest 
of all the Saint-Aignans’ bulls, has escaped; they are 
looking for him in the plain. But if by chance our 
friends meet him, they are lost.” 

This news fell like a thunderbolt. The Commander 
blew the horn; the guardians mounted hastily, and 
rode off in all directions in search of the travellers. 
Marius was about to ride haphazard like the rest, 
when a sudden thought occurred to Germaine. 

‘‘Let us go up to the balcony,” she said; “we 
may see them with the glass, so that you can go 
straight in their direction.” 

Her brother and she rushed up. They at first 
scanned the banks of the Valcar£s, then the fields; 
when they came at last to the Sansouire, Frederic 
descried the father and daughter in the distance, 
riding towards the Petit-Patis. He rushed down 
again. When he reached the court, he found Marius 
on horseback, spear in hand, and with him an old 
doundaire, or tame bull, which followed him like a 
dog. 

“To the Petit-Patis!” he cried, jumping on a 
horse. “ Th£resine, give me my gun.” 

And they set off like a whirlwind. 


250 


“ MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES.’* 

Saddened by his melancholy victory, the Marquis 
rode silently beside his daughter, who was still weep¬ 
ing. When they came close to the rushes, whence 
they could perceive the Valcarks, the Marquis stopped 
a moment to ascertain their whereabouts, and, anx¬ 
ious to shorten the way, plunged among the sedges. 
He had gone about fifty paces, when his horse, 
shying suddenly, made so sudden a bound that it 
threw him, excellent rider as he was, ten paces for¬ 
ward on the ground. Renee, who remained in the 
saddle, uttered a cry of terror at sight of a black 
monster that arose with a frightened bellow, looked 
at her fiercely, his hide bristling and his hoofs pawing 
the sand, ready to rush upon her. 

“ Fly, fly, my daughter! ” cried her father, whose 
horse, having got rid of its rider, was already far in 
the distance, with the stirrups flapping against his 
sides. 

Paralyzed with terror, Ren£e felt herself incapable 
of any effort, she alternately regarding her wounded 
father and the bull, whose fiery nostrils were dilating 
with fury. She would have been lost, had not her 
terrified horse, disregarding spur and bridle, leaped 
aside to avoid the charge of his terrible enemy, and 
made straight for the open plain, pursued by the bull, 
who was foaming with rage. Renee managed to 
cling on to her horse, but turning her head ever and 
anon, saw through the whirlwind of dust raised by 
their mad career the fiery eyes and threatening horns 


MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES . 1 


2 5 T 


of the monster, the scar of whose wound shone out 
from his ebony skin, like the white cross on a pall. 
Far, far behind this whirlwind, bareheaded, his face 
covered with blood, came the Marquis, never stop¬ 
ping to think of the utter impossibility of catching 
up with them in their furious course, wherein they 
seemed to blend in a confused mass. 

Gradually the horse’s strength began to fail, and 
the distance between him and his pursuer was mo¬ 
mentarily diminishing. The monster’s fiery breath 
was already upon him. Guided by instinct, he leaped 
aside and let the bull pass. The monster, carried on 
by his speed no less than by his bulk, could not turn 
quickly enough to pierce the fugitive’s side with his 
horns. Astonished, and more furious than ever, the 
bull gave a roar and, also turning back, rushed upon 
the pony. This time the pursuer and pursued were 
speeding in the direction of the unhappy father, who, 
breathless from running, unarmed, and unable to find 
even a pebble, yet anxious to save his daughter at 
all hazards, did not hesitate to throw himself before 
the furious beast. But the latter, disdaining a foe 
whom his first shock rolled over in the dust, plunged 
into the sedges after the exhausted and panting 
steed. As he got up, M. de Blesignan saw the horse 
fall, and heard Rente’s cry of horror. Then, in his 
despair, he fell upon his knees and cried out: 

“ My God! do not take her from me. I give her 
to Thee ! ” 


252 “man proposes, god disposes.” 

Just then a musket-shot was heard, and the iron 
spear of a guardian was uplifted in the air. Riding 
at full speed, Marius and the Chevalier reached the 
spot, just as the bull, in its blind fury, had attacked 
the horse, butting it with his horns, and trampling 
upon it in his rage, close by where Ren£e lay in a 
swoon. 

At the approach of these new enemies, the Etoile 
du Soir , raising his bloody head, was about to rush 
upon them, when the ball of the young dragoon 
struck him in the forehead, at the same moment that 
the spear of the guardian pierced his hide. This 
double attack would not, however, have had much 
effect if, just then, the tinkle of the bell and the 
sight of the doundaire had not produced its usual 
effect, and changed the fury of the palusin into docile 
timidity. He went over and stood beside the tame 
bull in the most amicable way. 

Without taking any further notice of the van¬ 
quished, Frederic and Marius alighted to attend to 
Ren6e, whom they at first thought dead, but who, 
by a special intervention of Providence, had not re¬ 
ceived a single scratch. She had just opened her 
eyes, and looked round her in bewilderment, like 
one awaking from a dream, when her father arrived 
and took her in -his arms. He was half-crazed with 
mingled joy and sorrow. He pressed her to his heart 
without a word; he was deadly pale, and looked as 
if his heart would break. He embraced Frederic and 


MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES. 


253 


u 


Marius, and would fain have embraced the doundaire 
browsing quietly near his prisoner, who had lain 
down, panting and foaming, at his side. 

From the condition of both father and daughter, 
it would have been impossible for them „to go home 
on horseback, so Frederic rode off to bring a car¬ 
riage, leaving them under the care of Marius. In 
half an hour the young officer was back; he found 
the hero and heroine of the drama almost entirely 
recovered from their emotion. Renee was calm, but 
her father spoke with extraordinary volubility. He 
took the dragoon in his arms, and whispered ex¬ 
citedly : 

11 She shall be a nun! she shall be a nun! I have 
sworn it. Yes, she shall be a nun ! ” 

The Chevalier had no objection to offer; he had 
never thought of marrying Renee, indeed he had not 
thought of marrying any one; so he merely an¬ 
swered : 

“ It is a noble vocation/’ 

He was much more anxious just then for the ar¬ 
rival of the carriage, which came at length with Ma¬ 
dame and Germaine. 

“ She is going to be a nun,” repeated the Mar¬ 
quis to them. 

Germaine pressed her friend’s hand. 

“ I know that was your great desire,” said she. 
“ I congratulate you on having won your father’s con¬ 
sent, and I will go and see you at the convent.” 


254 


MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES. 


<4 


Neither Madame de Marcoiran nor her brother had 
expected this; but Madame was a true Christian, 
and resigned herself with a sigh. The Commander 
took what he called his friend’s weakness in very bad 
part, but hid his disappointment, partly out of polite¬ 
ness to his guests and partly so as not to complicate 
matters. 

Next morning the Abbe Boucarut celebrated a 
Mass of Thanksgiving at Notre Dame d’Amour, at 
which the whole household assisted; even old Ber¬ 
nard came thither, leaning on his daughter’s arm. 

“ Well, old boy,” said Frederic, “ what have you 
to say of your son-in-law now ? ” 

“ It was wrong of me to suspect him,” said he, 
passing the back of his hard hand across his eyes to 
wipe away a tear of joy; “he was worthy of my 
daughter; he is a brave lad ! ” 

Two days after, on his return from Arles, whither 
he had gone to escort the Marquis and his daughter, 
Frederic met Theresine. 

“ Is it true,” she asked, “ as some say, that this 
lovely young lady is soon to enter the convent? ” 

“ I believe it is certain,” he answered. 

“ What a pity she did not come to settle in Ca- 
margue! We all hoped she would.” 

“ But why in Camargue ? ” 

“ Because we thought she would marry her young 
kinsman.” 

“ What young kinsman ? ” 


MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES. 


255 


u 


“ Monsieur Frederic de Marcoiran,” said Th£re- 
sine, looking full at him. 

“What nonsense ! ” cried he. “It is all very 
well for you to marry, but I prefer my liberty. Now 
that we are left to ourselves, you will see what 
splendid shooting I shall have with your husband. ” 

“ Surely they would have made a splendid couple,” 
said old Bernard. “ Monsieur Frederic did wrong to 
let her slip through his fingers; he will find it hard to 
get such another.” 

Old Zounet and all the household were of the same 
opinion, whereas the Commander was simply fu¬ 
rious at his friend, though he did not even then 
despair. 

“ We will settle it yet,” he said to his sister, who 
had not the slightest hope. 

One day, about three months after their departure, 
a messenger brought a crested letter to the Com- 
mandery, where Madame was staying. M. de For- 
ton broke the seal, read the letter, frowned, and 
passed it on to his sister. 

M. de Bl£signan informed him of the entrance of 
Ren£e as a postulant in the Trinitarians of Bolene, 
of which his cousin, Madame de Lafare, was abbess. 

“ It was her vocation,” wrote the Marquis, “ and 
I could not gain her consent to my most cherished 
wish.” 

“ Hers was a noble soul and a rarely fine nature,” 
sighed the widow. 


256 ‘'man proposes, god disposes.” 

The Commander shrugged his shoulders impa¬ 
tiently. 

“ Say, rather, that her father is a dotard,” said 
he; “ but there is no harm done; she has not taken 
any vows yet.” 

Early in the following month, on the very eve of 
a grand duck-shooting, for in autumn hundreds of 
these aquatic fowl gather upon the Valcar&s, a cor¬ 
poral from Arles brought Frederic a document from 
the War Office. It was an order from M. de The- 
mine, his colonel, to rejoin his regiment in Versailles 
at once. Certain troubles had broken out in Paris; 
all the officers were recalled. He set out with swell¬ 
ing heart, taking leave of his people with an emotion 
which he himself could not explain. It seemed as if 
a secret presentiment warned him that he was never 
more to see them as they were then in his dear Ca- 
margue, where he left them at the call of duty. 


’93- 


257 


CHAPTER X. 

’ 93 - 

F IVE years had rolled away since the departure of 
the Chevalier; terrible years, each one marked 
by murder, revolt, incendiarism, bankruptcy, and 
the last by the most fearful inundation of crime that 
ever disgraced one of those great upheavings of a 
nation which history records with horror in her gloom¬ 
iest annals under the name of Revolution. 

The year ’93 had just begun. The ancient order of 
things was crumbling away under the irresistible blast 
of the democratic tempest; the throne of the ancient 
monarchy and the altars raised in honor of the 
“ Christ Who loves the Francs,” were reduced to 
ruins. The churches were deprived of God, and the 
palace of Versailles was in mourning for its kings. 
Toulon, Lyons, Verdun fell under the hammer of the 
destroyers. Carrier terrified Nantes by his fierce re¬ 
publicanism ; the army of the Convention carried fire 
and sword into La Vendee; priests and nobles were 
tracked like wild beasts by infamous informers in the 
pay of the Dantons, the Robespierres, the Saint- 


*93* 


258 

Justs, and other monsters, whose names are synony¬ 
mous with scenes of horror and with the extreme of 
ruffianism, fell under the daggers of the murderers, 
under the blade of the guillotine, or were left to rot 
on dunghills. In the desecrated churches, apostate 
priests offered their impure incense to the impure 
goddess of Reason, and mingled their sacrilegious 
ceremonies with the wild dances, accompanied by 
the hideous Carmagnole or the infamous ‘ ‘ Qa ira. ’ ’ * 

Europe, in consternation at the spectacle of these 
wild beasts at first uniting for the destruction of their 
victims and afterwards tearing each other to pieces, 
sent its armies in all haste to form a sanitary cordon 
around this fiery furnace, the flames whereof threat¬ 
ened to ignite the world. 

Thus threatened with foreign invasion, the Con¬ 
vention, far from being intimidated, replied by the 
grossest insults, and whilst it sent all the soldiers it 
could collect to the frontiers, it doubled its proconsuls, 
its spies, and its murderers in the interior. Sustained 
only by the terror which its audacity inspired, and 
weighing upon what had been France, but what they 
now called only “ the Nation,” that terrible regime 
obtained the sinister name, which has ever since re¬ 
mained with it, of the ** Reign of Terror.” Terror 
was, in fact, the predominant feeling everywhere—in 
the most remote country-places no less than in the 


* Carmagnole and revolutionary songs. 



’93- 


259 


large cities, in the midst of the agricultural popu¬ 
lation as in the great industrial centres. 

** Audacity ! always audacity ! ** said one of those 
demoniacs in the bonnet rouge, beneath whose scourge 
the wrath of God had forced guilty France to bow, 
and who proved their power by making all good men 
tremble. The Convention and its emissaries, after 
having heaped insult and ignominy upon the royal 
family, sent Louis the Just, the descendant of Henry 
IV., Philip Augustus, and St. Louis, to the scaffold. 
On the 21st January, 1793, the head of the good 
king fell under the knife, on the square of the Revo¬ 
lution, whilst his pure soul, delivered from its long 
captivity, ascended to heaven, where it besought the 
offended Majesty of God to have pity on the frenzied 
people. But this was not sufficient; crime must be 
heaped on crime, till the cup overflowed. 

Fouquier-Tinville and his worthy acolytes redoubled 
their cruelty; the revolutionary tribunals forced 
France to drink the chalice to the dregs. Night and 
day the murderous judges, sitting in their dens, sent 
suspects in cartloads to the national guillotine. The 
executioners had not a moment’s rest. These min¬ 
isters of death gave the blood no time to cool on the 
red planks, and naught was heard but the dismal 
rumbling of the fatal cart, depositing its load of vic¬ 
tims at the foot of the scaffold, or returning to the 
over-crowded prisons, seeking a new cargo. In course 
of time they added to the royalists those patriots 


26o 


93- 


of the day before, the reactionaries of the day after, 
the Girondists, who had voted for the King’s death 
more through fear than through conviction. They 
were nevertheless accused of moderatism, and their 
cowardice did not save their heads; they rolled in 
the dust with that of Madame Roland, the insulter 
of Marie-Antoinette; with that of Danton, the fierce 
Montagnard; with Hebert, of infamous memory; 
witn Carrier, the proconsul, and numbers of the 
other real criminals, in the same place where the 
head of their royal victim had fallen, and where were 
soon to fall those of Robespierre, Fouquier-Tinville, 
Henriot, and other monsters. Most of them died a 
coward’s death, weeping over their fate and vainly 
seeking for pity from a populace which replied 
to their entreaties by insults. It could not be 
otherwise; such monsters are made of blood and 
clay. 

Such was not the death of Louis XVI., nor that 
of his noble and royal wife, Marie-Antoinette, Queen 
of France; she was calm and majestic in presence 
of her murderers, and mounted the steps of the 
scaffold as she would have ascended the steps of a 
throne. 

Her iniquitous judges had used every effort to 
make her trial and sentence a torture worse than death. 
The indictment, read by Fouquier-Tinville in the As¬ 
sembly, was a long tissue of denunciations and in¬ 
famous calumnies. Hebert’s deposition was still 


’ 93 - 


261 


more ignoble. The Queen made no reply. Then, 
wishing to humiliate and, if possible, to disgrace her, 
the judges asked her why she was silent. She arose, 
and cast a long steady look upon her enemies. 

“If I do not answer,” she said, “it is because 
nature refuses to answer such an accusation brought 
against a mother: I appeal to all mothers who are 
present.” 

Even the tribunes responded to this sublime cry 
from a deeply-injured woman by admiring plaudits. 
The judges hung their heads in presence of a mani¬ 
festation which covered them with shame. But soon, 
raising them again with new fury, they condemned 
the woman Capet to death. Everything was arranged 
so that she might drink the chalice slowly to the 
dregs. She was put into a cart, the driver of which 
was told to walk his horses. An actor, the comedian 
Grammont, disguised as a captain of artillery, rode 
before the cart, waving his sword, and shouting: 

“ Behold the infamous Antoinette! ” 

Just as they reached Saint-Roch’s, a swarm of 
ruffians caused the cart to be stopped, that they 
might insult their royal victim. The Queen, in deep 
recollection, continued to pray; she did not even 
hear the insults, which fell off from her, in showers 
of mud, upon those who uttered them. At the foot 
of the scaffold there was another halt; it was the 
last upon that sorrowful way. The daughter of Maria 
Theresa mounted the steps with majestic tread, with- 


262 


93- 


out either weakness or bravado; and those who saw 
her upon that fatal platform might well have been 
convinced that it is easier to murder a queen than to 
disgrace her. There was a moment’s pause, and a 
dull sound, followed by a tumultuous cry of “ Vive 
la Rtpublique ! ” which announced that the crime was 
consummated. Marie-Antoinette had entered into 
immortality. 

During these troubled and sorrowful years Frederic 
went only twice to the Mas Rouge , once for the mar¬ 
riage of his sister Germaine with the Baron de Mont- 
blanc, the second time, alas! for the funeral of that 
beloved sister. She was carried off by a fever brought 
on by the terrible news of the flight of the king, and 
his arrest at Varennes. The young officer had really 
come for the baptism of his sister’s first child; but 
he could only pray at the grave which contained 
mother and child. His sorrow was deep and in¬ 
tense; he would fain have remained to console his 
mother, but duty called him back to that royal family, 
so hapless and so deserted. All France was in revo¬ 
lution. Even in the hitherto calm and peaceful Ca- 
margue insurrectionary movements began to be felt; 
the guardians became threatening, and the peasantry 
talked of nothing but the divisions of land which they 
had so long cultivated by the sweat of their brow. 
Those of the Commandery were particularly insolent; 
being nearer the Rhone, and in more direct com- 


93* 


263 


munication with the boatmen of Arles, who kept 
them posted on what was going on in the great cities, 
the hotbeds of revolt, they allowed themselves to be 
filled with ideas of ambition and insubordination. 

Quite cured of his illusions as to the new doctrines, 
which he had believed were to restore the golden age 
in France, the Commander understood at last that 
the philosophy of which he had been an admirer, and 
the States-General from which he had expected re¬ 
sults so marvellous, were ending in crime and dis¬ 
order. If his conversion was sincere, it was late, 
too late; what can one man do to arrest the progress 
of a sea? His efforts to restore discipline and com¬ 
mand respect from his servants failed utterly, the 
more so that his new overseer, hoping that there was 
a fortune for himself in the movement which was on 
foot, excited the peasants to revolt. 

Frederic found his uncle discouraged, alarmed, 
overcome with grief, and almost with remorse, for 
having indulged in theories the inevitable results of 
which he had been unable to foresee. He in 
fact decided to emigrate, and offer his sword to the 
princes who were trying to raise an army on the fron¬ 
tiers, to deliver France from the odious tyranny under 
which she groaned. 

M. de Forton would willingly have taken his 
nephew with him, but the young man refused; not 
that he regarded emigration as flight or desertion, 
but because his duty kept him in Paris, then the 


264 


’93- 


prison of the royal family, before the murderers of 
Louis and Marie-Antoinette had sent their victims to 
the Temple and thence to the guillotine. He de¬ 
parted, bidding a last farewell to his uncle and his 
mother, from whom he had obtained a reluctant 
promise to leave a country where her life was con¬ 
stantly in danger. The noble widow had indeed de¬ 
cided upon such a course, less to save her life, which, 
after all the afflictions that had fallen upon her, she 
valued little, but to spare her absent son the daily 
anguish of suspense. It was arranged that she should 
set out, as soon as possible, with her brother; that 
old Bernard and his son-in-law should still manage 
the two estates, while Theresine should look after 
the household. 

On the day of Frederic’s departure for Paris, Ber¬ 
nard accompanied his young master as far as Arles; 
the wind was cold, the sky dull and lowering. Their 
horses started a flock of ducks which, after circling a 
moment in the air, dropped into the Valcar&s. A 1 
most at the same moment the report of a gun made 
them turn their heads. A light boat, rowed by a 
vigorous oarsman, darted just then from among the 
rushes, and proceeded towards the spot where the 
wounded ducks had fallen. 

“It is Marius,’’ said Frederic, with a sad smile ; 
“ yesterday evening he excused himself from coming 
with me to Arles, on the plea that important business 
required his presence at Aigues-Mortes.’’ 


*93* 265 

“ Hound ! ” growled Bernard, clenching his fist; 
“ the bone-setter was right: all foundlings—” 

“ Ho not talk like that, my dear old boy,” said 
Frederic. “ Your son-in-law is better than you think. 
Remember that his courage saved Mile, de Bl6si- 
gnan’s life.” 

I do not say to the contrary, Monsieur le Cheva¬ 
lier, ” said Bernard; “he behaved well that day, I 
admit. But why did he not come to escort you, 
as it was his duty to do ? ” 

“ He is a sportsman first of all,” said Frederic. 
“ The ducks tempted him to use his gun; he could 
not resist.” 

“ In such times as these ducks are of little import¬ 
ance, and especially on the day when our good mas¬ 
ter is leaving us, perhaps forever.” 

“Forever? Oh, no ! I guarantee we shall hunt 
together yet upon the Valcarks. I promise you, on 
the word of a gentleman; that is, if I am not killed, 
and if you do not desert the estate.” 

“ God hear you and preserve you, Monsieur le 
Chevalier! but as to my deserting the estate, these 
rascals will never make me betray my duty; they 
shall cut me into pieces before I let them pillage 
your Mas Rouge . 

“ But if you should be killed too ? ” 

“ Ther£sine will be here to defend your property.” 

“ The estate is not worth the price of such good 
blood, old comrade,” said Frederic; “ and I hope 


2 66 


*93- 


that once my mother and uncle are gone, no one 
will dream of seizing upon property which the patriots 
will believe to be in your possession.” 

“ Thanks for your confidence, Monsieur Frederic,” 
cried Bernard, passing his horny hand across his 
eyes. 44 May God go with you and protect you ! 
Do not be uneasy about the Mas Rouge; whatever 
hour of the day or night you return there, you will 
always find Bernard or his daughter, and it will be 
home.” 

At Arles there was a noisy crowd in the Place des 
Homines, all excited by the tidings of the latest 
events in Paris; groups of sinister-looking men, the 
very dregs of society, such as in troublous times 
mount to the surface, danced the Carmagnole ,* wav¬ 
ing their red caps and shouting the fa ira . 

As soon as Frederic appeared, they began to hurl 
insulting epithets at him, and cry out: 

44 To the lantern f with aristocrats ! ” 

Frederic grew pale with anger; he urged his horse 
into the very midst of the enemy. 

“ Down with the defender of the tyrant ! ” cried a 
drunken voice. 

And a patriot laid a hand on the bridle of the 
horse to stop it But the Queen’s Dragoon was not 
one to suffer such an insult; his whip waved in the 

* A name applied to a revolutionary dance, as well as to a song, 
f In allusion to the practice of suspending aristocrats from the 
street lamps or lanterns. 



'93* 267 

air and fell across the face of the insolent drunken 
wretch, making a bloody stripe. 

“ To the Rhone with the noble ! to the water 
with the aristocrat ! ” cried twenty voices. 

“ On your knees, and ask pardon of the Nation ! ” 
repeated the guardian Ourias, the man in the red 
cap, who, half blinded by blood, still kept his hold 
of the bridle, and with his bull-strength tried to drag 
Frederic from his horse. 

The circle closed in. The young man seemed in¬ 
evitably lost, for this brutal giant would hear no 
reason ; the multitude was thoroughly roused. There 
was not a moment to be lost. 

“ Monsieur le Chevalier,” whispered Bernard, pres¬ 
sing close to his master, “ be ready to ride off, with¬ 
out giving me a thought.” 

Then bending over to the guardian, he said: 

“ Ourias, you know me. I give you warning. Off 
with your claws, or I will knock you down.” 

“ Death to the aristocrats ! ” foamed the giant. 

“ Will you let go ?” 

“ Death to—” 

The dull sound of the old huntsman’s club was 
heard upon the guardian’s head, and he fell his whole 
length upon the ground. Before the spectators had 
recovered from their surprise, three or four patriots 
were rolling in the dust, under the hoofs of the 
flying horses. Some pistol-shots sent after the fugi¬ 
tives only accelerated their speed, and in less than 


268 


'93- 


three minutes they were galloping along the dusty 
road from Arles to Avignon. No one seemed to 
think of pursuing them. They slackened their pace. 
Frederic then earnestly thanked his old friend for his 
interference, which had saved his life. 

“It is true I had that happiness this time,” an¬ 
swered Bernard, “ but I must leave you at Beaucaire, 
just when you are beginning a long journey, where 
you will probably meet with many such adventures. 
Now, Monsieur Frederic, you say that you do not 
know how to thank me; grant me one favor, the only 
one which I will ask of you, and which is more than 
I deserve.' Will you grant it ? ” 

“ On the faith of a gentleman. You have only to 
mention it, my friend; I promise in advance to grant 
it.” 

“ Well, I beg of you, when you reach Beaucaire, 
to change your uniform for a civilian’s dress.” 

“ But that would be cowardice.” 

“ No, Monsieur Frederic, only prudence. You 
are going to give your sword to our beloved king; 
your duty is, therefore, to take care of your life 
for his sake, and then think of your good mother, 
already so afflicted. Would you make her die of 
grief ? ’ ’ 

“ I have promised, and I will keep my promise, 
brave heart that you are!” cried the young man, 
touched by the old man’s words. “ Tell my mother 
to rest content; that I will travel in disguise, that I 


'9 3- 269 

will meddle in no dispute, and that it is to your good 
advice these prudent resolutions are owing.” 

“ Thanks, Monsieur le Chevalier; may God reward 
your goodness to an old servant who, come what 
may, will be always faithful to you ! ” 

They continued to ride on, conversing of many 
things, and discussing the precautions to be taken 
for Madame de Marcoiran’s flight. Bernard and 
Theresine were to accompany her, together with the 
Commander, under pretence of a pilgrimage to les 
Saintes, as far as Aigues-Mortes, where they would 
secretly embark for Spain on one of those little mer¬ 
chant-vessels which trade between that port and 
Barcelona. 

When they reached Beaucaire they exchanged 
their last greetings and mutual recommendations. 
The Chevalier having again promised his foster-father 
to return and shoot ducks with him on the Valcares, 
they parted, the old huntsman cutting across country 
towards Saint-Gilles, and the Queen’s Dragoon, dis¬ 
guised as a merchant travelling on business, rode on to 
Rogonas, to take the ferryboat across the river of la 
Durance, which forms the boundary on that side of the 
county of Venaissin. Bernard returned unobserved. 

It was not until some days later that the news 
spread through the country of the Chevalier’s en¬ 
counter at Arles, and of the death of Ourias, which 
occurred the day after he had been struck by Ber¬ 
nard’s club. 


270 


’93- 


Such an event made but a slight sensation at that 
time; the law took little cognizance of such matters, 
especially as Ourias had been a sort of bandit, both 
feared and hated. 

Marius, who had foreseen in him a future rival, 
and against whom the guardian had cherished a 
deadly hatred, would certainly have been rejoiced 
had he not feared that his father-in-law’s interven¬ 
tion in favor of the Chevalier might militate against 
him and his own designs. For there was already 
talk of confiscating the goods of Emigres or of those 
who had fallen under the justice of the people, and 
though too crafty to make known his real sentiments 
to his wife or father-in-law, Marius was speculating 
upon a near future, and wishing with all his heart 
for the triumph of the revolution, which would, he 
hoped, humble his former masters and enrich himself. 

Theresine never suspected her husband’s baseness, 
and she was convinced that he would be, like herself 
and her father, rejoiced when, about three weeks 
after Frederic’s departure, a letter came from him, 
addressed to Madame de Marcoiran, announcing his 
safe arrival in Paris. 

“ Poor dear Chevalier ! ” cried Bernard, “ he is 
not out of danger yet, but in Paris he is at least not 
alone; and with so many others he may be useful to 
the King and Queen, and, sword in hand, help to 
drive back the brigands who dare to attack them.” 

“I do not think things are as bad as they are 


*9 3 - 


27 r 

generally reported/’ said Marius; “troubles like 
these are always exaggerated at a distance, and when 
there is a disturbance as big as my finger it is said 
to be as big as my arm.” 

“ Nevertheless Monsieur Frederic was near being 
thrown into the Rhone,” cried Bernard. 

“ I should think so, with that brute of an Ourias; 
he wanted to meddle in everything, and you did well 
to rid the country of him.” 

“ I am sorry I killed him, but he forced me to do 
it,” sighed Bernard. “ I had no wish to get rid of 
him.” 

“ Bah ! ” cried Marius, “ dead men do not bite. 
He might have done harm, and he was our deadly 
enemy.” 

“ We should pardon our enemies and not kill 
them,” said Theresine; “ life is in God’s hand, and 
rash is he who dares to send before its Judge a soul 
made to the image of the Creator.” 

Marius was not of this opinion. Ourias had been 
a weight on his mind, and he felt that his father-in- 
law had done him a good turn in ridding him of an 
obstacle which might at any given moment become 
dangerous. 

Events succeeded each other with fearful rapidity. 
The commotions which deluged the large towns with 
blood found an echo in the provinces; almost every 
week brought news that the peasants had arisen, and 
murdered some lord or burned some castle. 


272 


* 93 - 


The Saint-Aignans were obliged to leave the Mas 
Brim in consequence of a revolt of their guardians. 
Those of the Commandery became more and more 
insolent every day. M. de Forton saw that the time 
had come for him to hasten to the army of the princes, 
returning with it to chastise the rebels that were 
spreading fire and blood through the Kingdom of 
the Lilies. Once convinced of this he wrote to his 
old companion-at-arms proposing that he should go 
with them into Spain or Germany, where numbers 
of emigres were assembled. 

M. de Bl£signan answered: 

“ Monsieur and much-honored Friend: I thank you 
for your kind attention, but I have long since sworn 
that these rascals, these robbers, these ruffians, who 
only await our departure to seize upon our goods, 
shall never see my heels. I will not do them the 
honor to leave my castle. If they wish to pillage it, 
let them come; I will receive them in good style. 
Cornebleu ! it will cost them dear to hang the corpse 
of the Seigneur of Nyons to a lantern. To-day my 
Renee was professed, and took the veil in the Con¬ 
vent of the Trinitarians. My life is no longer neces¬ 
sary to any one; I look forward but to one pleasure 
in life, and of that I shall certainly not deprive my¬ 
self. It is to teach these brigands of patriots, these 
red-capped robbers and cutthroats, a lesson which 
they will not forget. 

“You have my most heart-felt wishes for the safe 


93- 


273 


issue of your journey and that of the most honored 
Madame de Marcoiran; but I repeat, my mind is 
made up. The Marquis de Blesignan will die, if 
needs be, but die like his ancestors, in armor, sword 
in hand, his face towards the foe. 

“ Upon which, I pray God, Monsieur, and much- 
honored friend, that He may keep you in His holy 
care. 

“ Vive Dieu ! Long live the King ! 

“ Guillaume, Marquis de Btisignan .’ 

“ He is very wrong, but he has a noble heart,” 
said the Commander, after having read this letter to 
his sister. “ I know him.well; it is useless to insist.” 

Three days after, at dawn of day, four horses set out 
from the Mas Rouge for Aigues-Mortes, and, passing 
through the town, arrived the same evening at Grau-du- 
Roi, a little village composed of some twenty thatched 
cabins, skirting the canal. Under one of these thatch- 
covered roofs, in company with several brave sailors, 
Madame de Marcoiran spent this last night. The 
next day the Commander and she, taking with them 
all the money and jewels which, thanks to Bernard, 
they had been able to gather together, embarked on 
a Spanish vessel bound for Barcelona. Th£resine 
burst into tears; Bernard wept also. Madame de 
Marcoiran embraced Th£r£sine, and gave her hand 
to the old huntsman to kiss, saying: 

“ I confide to you the property of my son and 


274 


'93- 


the grave of my daughter. I know that I can de¬ 
pend on your courage and fidelity.” 

“ We will soon return,” said the Commander, “ do 
not fear. God will never permit injustice and revolt 
to triumph over justice and right.” 

M. de Forton believed his words prophetic, but, 
alas! he was grievously mistaken. 

The wrath of Heaven demanded a longer and more 
terrible expiation. Streams of innocent blood must 
inundate guilty France, to purify it from the blas¬ 
phemies uttered against God by the philosophers, 
from the spirit of irreligion which had seized upon 
the nobility, and the scandal given to the world by 
royalty in the reign of Louis XV. The Revolution, 
unchained by the States-General, continued to ad¬ 
vance with giant strides. 

On the 20th of June, 1792, the wretches who had 
already invaded Versailles, and applauded the en¬ 
trance of Louis XVI. into Paris, after his arrest at 
Varennes, now poured like a torrent into the palace 
of the Tuileries, massacred the faithful guards, pene¬ 
trated the royal apartments, and forced an entrance 
into the presence of the Queen. 

This new insult, remaining unpunished, was a fresh 
incentive to the populace, who felt themselves mas¬ 
ters of the situation. Wholly without restraint, 
they stopped at nothing. The manifesto by which 
the Duke of Brunswick declared, in the name of the 
coalition of kings, that he would invade P"rance, re- 


’93- 


275 


store Louis XVI. to his rights and France to order, 
only roused the populace to new fury, and urged 
them on to fresh excesses. On the ioth of August 
the palace was attacked for the second time. The 
Swiss Guards defended it bravely; but the King, to 
save bloodshed, commanded them to cease firing. 
This was the signal for the massacre of these brave 
men by monsters drunk with wine and fury. On the 
2 d of September a still more atrocious crime, the 
massacre of the prisoners in the abbey, was com¬ 
manded in cold blood by Danton. 

Maillard and his cutthroats, in the pay of the new 
republican government, devoted themselves for three 
whole days to the massacre of the suspects brought 
to them in loaded carts called provision-baskets. 
Blood flowed in torrents. The Carmes had its turn 
after the abbey, and there numbers of priests were 
massacred. 

These terrible crimes, which inaugurated the era 
of assassinations, were followed by no less terrible 
crimes in the provinces. 

At Camargue the guardians of the Baron de Saint- 
Aignan set the example by burning the Mas Brun; 
those of the Commandery contented themselves with 
dividing the property of M. de Forton, which was 
cut up into shares. Bernard, threatened with death 
by the pillagers, found it impossible to stay the prog¬ 
ress of events or make the spoilers relinquish their 


prey. 


276 


’93- 


At Maison Rouge things were not so bad; the 
guardians, ever kindly treated by Madame de Mar- 
coiran, remained faithful to their former lord. On 
the whole estate there were scarcely two or three 
who ventured to speak of imitating their neighbors at 
the Commandery. Marius, to the great satisfaction 
of his father-in-law, who continued to distrust him, 
received these suggestions very ill; he showed the 
rebellious that he was a master who would not allow 
himself to be intimidated, and immediately drove 
them from the domain. This summary proceeding 
sufficed to restore order, which was not again dis¬ 
turbed. 

The year passed thus. ’93, of sinister memory, 
dawned; fatal year, ushered in by the regicide of the 
21st January, which disgraced France in the eyes of 
the whole civilized world, and inaugurated the Reign 
of Terror during which the revolutionary tribunals 
shed torrents of the purest and noblest blood in the 
kingdom. Under the knife of the guillotine fell in¬ 
numerable heads. The churches were everywhere 
profaned, the altars overthrown, the sacred vessels 
desecrated; the property of monasteries, like that of 
the dmigrts, sold, for a few handfuls of assignats ,* to 
miserable speculators, who, through greed of gain, 
became accomplices of the thefts committed by the 
Nation. 


* The paper money of the Revolution. 



’93- 


277 


The Mas Rouge was not forgotten by this brigand 
government, always in quest of new confiscations, 
always at the end of their resources, spending millions 
to become bankrupt. 

Bernard had expected the sale of the property, 
and prepared for it by saving all the money that he 
possibly could. He dared not proceed himself to 
Arles, where he was too well known and where he 
knew that he would be at once imprisoned. But he 
sent Marius, who, out of prudence, or even, as he 
said, out of devotion to his master, had affected the 
most advanced opinions, joined a patriotic club, and 
deserved by his terrorist ideas to be made municipal 
officer of the Saintes-Maries, now called Montagne- 
Marie. 

The sale by auction took place on the 16th 
October, the very day of the execution of Marie- 
Antoinette. When Marius came back in the evening 
he was not yet aware of this new crime; but what 
he did know was that he had been made by the 
Nation proprietor of the Mas Rouge; that the lands, 
the flocks, the house, the garden, and a portion of 
the river belonged to him. It had cost him some 
louis d’or, some twenty-four pounds, and a handful 
of assignats. Neither Madame nor the Commander 
had any further rights over these estates. The 
Chevalier, the only one who could claim any rights 
of property after the Revolution, had not been heard 
of for a year. He had probably perished at Paris, 


278 


’93- 


in the siege of the castle, or had been imprisoned, 
in which latter case the national guillotine would 
soon cut short his ulterior pretensions. 

Theresine’s husband came home radiant; his dream 
was at last realized; he, the foundling, the lad brought 
up on charity, the overseer liable to be dismissed 
any day, was now suzerain lord. He felt as if he 
were walking on air. Henceforth he had only one 
thought: to make his lands bring in as much as 
possible. It would be the worse for the idlers. He 
would be pitiless to them. The husband of old 
Zounet, a farmer, could not pay his rent; he would 
drive him thence; he would feed no idle mouths. 
The peasants would find out the difference between 
an idiotic noble and an intelligent citizen who had 
suddenly come into power. All this rushed into his 
mind at once; yet as he approached the house, he 
bethought himself of Theresine and Bernard, those 
devotees of royalty, and a cloud passed over his face, 
for he remembered that his father-in-law, always 
distrustful, before giving him the money had made 
him sign a deed by which he, Marius, acknowledged 
that he was only acting in his father-in-law’s name 
and as a bidder. The old man could not last long, 
but in the meantime he must not quarrel with him, 
much less let him guess his plans. Marius was, 
however, a complete master of the art of hypocrisy; 
he therefore assumed a downcast air on arriving at 
the farm, threw aside his cloak with an expression 


*93- 279 

of the deepest grief, and, giving some papers to his 
father-in-law, said: 

Here are the title-deeds, but our money has all 
gone.” 

“ What matter ! ” cried Bernard, radiant, “ so 
long as Monsieur Frederic is sure to find his domain 
intact.” 

“ We shall be ruined none the less,” growled 
Marius. 

“ Bah ! ” said Th£r£sine. “ The Chevalier will re¬ 
turn us what we have advanced out of the rents.” 

“ That reminds me,” cried the overseer, seizing 
the opportunity, “ that we must try to be more exact 
about the rents; we should betray his confidence 
were we to act otherwise.” 

“You are right,” said Ther£sine; “ these revenues 
should be more sacred than ever to us now.” 

Bernard was of the same opinion; so it was agreed 
that Marius, in whose intelligence they had great con¬ 
fidence, should administer the estate so as to improve 
it as much as possible. This was just what Marius 
wanted. 

“ I will do for him as I would do for myself,” he 
said; and he kept his word, for it was really for him¬ 
self that he worked. 

Nevertheless, he continued to be of the municipal 
council of les Saintes, where he posed as a furious 
republican and a fiery partisan of Robespierre. Ber¬ 
nard was much scandalized by this affectation of sans- 


280 


’93- 


culottism, and sometimes asked himself in affright 
whom Marius was really deceiving; but the latter 
always replied to such observations by saying: 

“ We must howl with the wolves if we would pre¬ 
vent them from devouring us. Let us, above all 
things, save the property of our good Monsieur 
Frederic.” 

Theresine, who was less credulous, wept in secret; 
her instinct warned her that Marius was only playing 
a game. Yet she dared not confide her fears to her 
father. Bernard, hot-headed as he was, might be 
the cause of new misfortunes. If only she could get 
news of Monsieur Frederic! She knew that his name 
had been placed on the list of frnigrts, and that if 
he were taken he would be guillotined, like all who 
were dragged before the revolutionary tribunals, and 
denounced there by traitors and ruffians. There¬ 
fore, while fully believing him to be in France, she 
feigned to think him in Spain or Italy. At times 
her suspense was torturing. Moreover, there was 
no chance of hearing from him. A letter from an 
SmigrJ, intercepted at the post-office, would be a 
crime sufficient to send the person to whom it was 
addressed to the guillotine. Far less than that suf¬ 
ficed: a name imprudently pronounced, a gesture, a 
glance, and one might be denounced and imprisoned. 

Amid this universal terror, which paralyzed even 
thought, one man, perhaps the only one in France, 
preserved his liberty of thought and action. This 


’93* 


s 8 i 


man was the Marquis de Blesignan. Instead of emi¬ 
grating like his friends, he had, as he said, made his 
ancient castle into a fortress, and provisioned it with 
arms and ammunition. From behind these walls he 
defied the Republic. His courage was so astonishing 
that he might have been spared, and regarded merely 
as a harmless fool, had not his property tempted the 
cupidity of some ruffians in the vicinity of Nyons. 

A shoemaker who was president of the Monta- 
gnard* club—for there were Montagnards everywhere, 
and clubs for all Montagnards—denounced him to 
the tribunal at Orange as a dangerous conspirator, 
who was keeping up an active correspondence with 
the enemies of France. Two gendarmes were sent 
to arrest him, but he had been warned and the gates 
were closed; they knocked, but no one answered. 
At last the Marquis appeared at a window, and 
asked what they wanted. 

“ We come to summon you, in the name of the 
law, to appear before the tribunal,” answered one 
of them. 

“ If that is all,” cried the Marquis, “ you can go 
back, my friend. I recognize neither your law nor 
your tribunals. I am in my own house; let your 
cutthroat judges come to seek me here, if they dare.” 

This reply, which was an actual challenge to the 
Republic, produced an outburst of rage on the part 


A fiery republican under the Revolution. 



282 


93- 


of its myrmidons. The same evening ten gendarmes 
and twenty national guardsmen came from Orange 
and passed through Nyons, announcing that they 
were going to seize the ruffian and drag him in fet¬ 
ters to prison, from which he would come out next 
day to cracker dans lepanier .* The shoemaker loudly 
applauded this declaration, which promised to realize 
his most ardent desire, and fiercely displayed a red 
flag—that hideous blood-colored rag, so worthy of 
the wretches who rallied round it, asking as an honor 
to be allowed himself to guide them to the castle. 

The setting sun was just gilding the ancient cha¬ 
teau, when the savage troop, shouting the Qa ira, 
arrived before it. All was silent and it would almost 
seem deserted. The great iron-barred door was 
closed. The corporal knocked in the name of the 
law. There was no answer. 

“ If the old wolf will not come out, we must force 
our way into his den,” shouted the shoemaker. 
“ Give me an axe, and you shall see.” 

However, no one had an axe; so he went off with 
five or six patriots to procure one, as well as crow¬ 
bars and other instruments. The national guards¬ 
men amused themselves in his absence by peppering 
the grated windows. And meanwhile, in the small 
arched room which served him as an arsenal, the Mar¬ 
quis was coolly loading his muskets, and placing them 


* A vulgar expression, literally to spit in the basket, meaning 
that the head of the Marquis would fall on the guillotine. 



93- 


283 


at windows overlooking the meadows. He had sent 
his faithful servant away to Lyons that morning on 
some pretence, so that he alone composed the gar¬ 
rison of his castle. When he heard the first blows of 
the axe upon the door, he mounted by a ladder to a 
narrow gun-hole, seized a two-barrelled gun, took aim 
with all the coolness of a hunter, and fired two shots. 

At the noise of the double report, which they were 
so far from expecting, and at sight of their ensign- 
bearer and one of the gendarmes lying dead on the 
ground, the volunteers of the Republic, forgetting 
their bravery, fled in disorder, throwing their arms 
to the wind, falling over each other, and deaf to the 
voice of the corporal. 

However, the gendarmes, not wishing to be asso¬ 
ciated in this ignominious flight, directed their fire 
towards the gun-hole, in order to give one of their 
comrades an opportunity to make a breach in the 
door. But this time the shots came from quite an¬ 
other direction, and the infallible bullets of the Mar¬ 
quis laid the hapless breachmaker low, and mortally 
wounded the corporal. Deprived of their leader, 
whom they carried off dying, the gendarmes availed 
themselves of the generosity of their adversary, who 
might have exterminated them had he so wished, 
and returned to the village, whence they had to send 
to Nyons for reinforcements, for the Montagnards 
absolutely refused even to remove the body 7 of their 
president. 


284 


93- 


Next day, the same gendarmes, bearing a flag of 
truce to announce that they did not come as enemies, 
appeared before the walls. The Marquis addressed 
them from a high battlement, excusing himself for 
being obliged to kill soldiers whom he esteemed, but 
declaring that he would give no quarter. He wore 
the uniform of the King’s household troops, with the 
cross of Saint Louis on his breast, and appeared with 
head uncovered. When he had finished speaking he 
returned to his donjon, whence, almost immediately, 
the white royalist flag was seen to float. 

Regular siege had now to be laid to this feudal 
den, as the Republican Committee contemptuously 
styled it. The siege commenced by a blockade, and 
was continued by the establishment of batteries and 
the digging of trenches. Gendarmes and a company 
of the national guard were sent at first. But regular 
troops had to be summoned, and these were picked 
off so skilfully by the ever-invisible Marquis that at 
the end of a week the assailants had not advanced a 
step. New troops, from Orange and Pont Saint- 
Esprit, under the command of a regular general, Al- 
bignac, were ordered to the spot; for, incredible as 
it may seem, this account is perfectly historical. They 
arrived at length with artillery. The republican 
army could now cannonade from afar the solitary 
aristocrat, who, alone and unaided, so long kept his 
ground against the enemy. 

At this distance his muskets were of no farther 


*93- 


285 

use, but he remembered an old gun ten feet long, 
and bringing it forth, used it to overthrow a couple 
of dozen Blues. The general had the cannons moved 
backwards. Knowing that it was a waste of ammuni¬ 
tion, the Marquis then ceased fire. They thought he 
was going to surrender. 

Down with the Republic! Long live the King ! ” 
was his reply to the flag of truce. 

The siege was becoming more and more ignomin¬ 
ious. At last incendiary bombs were brought into 
play. 

Cornebleu ! M. de Blesignan might well have ad¬ 
mired the stone slating on the church of les Saintes; 
the oak framework of his chateau took fire at once; 
he could not put it out by his own unaided efforts. 

The republicans seized the opportunity to assail 
the gates, which did not long withstand their efforts. 
They were quickly forced, and the wretches rushed 
like an avalanche into the court, anxious to possess 
themselves of the person of the brigand who had 
killed so many patriots, and to carry away his head 
upon their pikes. A curtain of fire arrested their 
progress; the flames were spreading rapidly, pouring 
out through the roof and from every casement, de¬ 
vouring the woodwork and obstructing all the doors. 
Suddenly a figure was seen outlined against that red 
and ominous background. It was the Marquis, who 
appeared, bareheaded and still in full uniform, on the 
balcony. He held a dark object in his hands. It 


236 


93- 


seemed to be a case, probably containing his papers 
and jewels. There was a moment of suspense; none 
could guess what he was going to do with it. He 
raised it high above his head, and threw it among 
the multitude below, who crowded with the greed 
of wild beasts round this treasure sent by the enemy. 

All at once there was a loud report; a breach was 
made among the ravenous crew, and shrieks of 
mingled fear and pain echoed through the court, al¬ 
ready strewn with bloody remnants. 

“ Long live the King ! ” cried the Marquis, waving 
his hand. “ Long live the King ! ” 

The coffer which he had thrown to them contained 
the last of his ammunition. 

“ Long live the King ! ” he repeated, darting in 
among the flames which barred his passage. 

His after-fate was never known, but it would seem 
that he perished in the ruins of his chateau. 


THE TERROR. 


287 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE TERROR. 


EVERAL months had elapsed since the event 



^ we have related, before the news of the noble 
defence made by the Marquis de Blesignan, and of the 
infamous vengeance taken by the patriots of Nyons, 
arrived at the Mas Rouge . The insult offered to the 
national guard of the town exasperated the Monta- 
gnard club, the more so as the siege of the castle 
had served to display the cowardice of many of its 
members. In their rage, some of these wretches 
bethought themselves of the daughter of the Marquis, 
and resolved to vent their wrath upon her. Seeking 
Renee’s whereabouts, they discovered that, like many 
other victims forgotten in the dungeons, since the 
guillotine could not suffice to empty them, she was 
with her companions in the prisons of Bolene; then, 
with a savage joy, they hastened to denounce her. 
At this epoch, so fertile in monsters, the revolution¬ 
ary tribunal of Orange had the melancholy privilege 
of being remarkable for the ruffianism of its members. 

A summons to appear at the bar was at once 
brought against the imprisoned religious, and the 


288 


THE TERROR. 


public prosecutor prepared in advance an indictment 
which he expected would produce a veritable sensa¬ 
tion, as well from the enormity of the crimes with 
which they were charged as by the sentimental and 
extravagant terms in which it was couched. 

The journal brought from Arles by Marius, who 
had gone thither with some furious patriots to take 
part in one of those hideously burlesque festivals 
which the high-priest of Reason, the hypocritical 
and sentimental Robespierre, substituted for the 
solemnities of the Catholic Church, chronicled the 
arrival at Orange of the twenty-five enemies of the 
Republic, huddled into three carts and escorted by 
valiant patriots who had not hesitated to undergo the 
fatigue of a long journey in order that none of these 
wretches should escape the avenging blade of justice. 

“ Brought before the revolutionary tribunal, these 
priest-perverted women,” said the republican editor, 
“ carried their audacity so far as to deny the horrible 
crime of high treason, of which they were accused 
by trustworthy evidence. Happily, the honest judges 
were not deceived by these denials, and, consulting 
only their outraged patriotism, condemned these 
twenty-five criminals to the guillotine. Twelve of 
them underwent the final penalty amid the applause of 
all true patriots. The thirteen others were kept over 
till the next day, on account of the lateness of the 
hour and also because of certain criminal demon¬ 
strations on the part of a few citizens, who were 


THE TERROR. 


289 


t@uched by an unpatriotic and most censurable pity 
towards the accused. The prisoners, young in 
years, were already hardened in criminal fanaticism, 
of which they all, and especially the before-named 
Renee de Blesignan, the last guillotined, gave a strik¬ 
ing manifestation upon the scaffold.” 

Poor young lady! ” said Ther£sine, bursting into 
tears, “ she was Mile. Germaine’s best friend, and an 
angel from heaven. These brigands of republicans 
only gave her back her wings when they put her to 
death.” 

“ She died like a saint,” said Marius; “ the journal 
does not tell all.” 

“ All these holy women died an admirable death, 
of course,” said Theresine, “ and I am sure that the 
noble daughter of the Marquis de Blesignan showed 
as much courage and coolness as any of her com¬ 
panions.” 

“ I gathered from an eye-witness to the execu¬ 
tion,” said Marius, who was anxious to appear in old 
Bernard’s eyes all that he really was not, “ that this 
last crime will bring misfortune upon Robespierre. 
The people are beginning to be tired of all these 
executions, and seem to have got a surfeit of blood. 
They were afraid of an anti-patriotic movement, 
and it was not really because it was late, but because 
the judges were afraid of a rising among the people, 
that the last religious were taken back to the prison.” 

“ The people are too cowardly to revolt,” growled 


290 


THE TERROR. 


Bernard, striking his forehead with his clenched fist; 
“ yes, too cowardly.” 

“ Except the Vendeans, ” said Theresine, with ani¬ 
mation. 

“ Ah ! ” cried her father, “ if I were twenty years 
younger, M. de la Rochejacquelein * would count 
another musket, and the Blues some scores of soldiers 
less. ” 

Marius said nothing, but sighed deeply. 

“ Yes,” cried his father-in-law, “ you may well 
sigh! Were I in your place, I would be there.” 

“ I think my presence is much more useful here 
than it would be in le Bocagejf you would not be 
able alone to control the tenants of the Mas Rouge 
and keep the land for its lawful owners.” 

“ True,” said Bernard, in a softened tone; and 
changing the subject abruptly, said: “Tell us all 
that passed in Orange.” 

“ These holy nuns arrived there in the morning,” 
said Marius, assuming a tone of emotion worthy of 
the most finished actor; “ they were dragged to the 
tribunal, where, as you know, the judges relieve each 
other, so as not to keep the guillotine waiting. 
Hearing of their arrival, a great crowd hastened to 
see and perhaps to insult them. But the moment 
the prisoners entered the hall, the people seemed to 
change. The nuns came in with their veils lowered, 


* The Marquis de la Rochejacquelein, a leader of La Vendee, 
f A district of La Vendee, 



THE TERROR. 


291 


their hands crossed upon their breasts, and advanced 
two by two to their places in the dock, where they 
sat down as they used to sit in the stalls of their 
church. Last of all came the abbess, Madame de 
Lafare, a tall, majestic woman; she walked slowly, 
with her eyes fixed upon the ground, quite calm and 
undisturbed. A few shouts were heard, stifled at 
once. There was perfect silence in the court. This 
was not what the judges had expected, and it made 
them uneasy. On a sign from the judge, the public 
prosecutor rose; he counted a great deal upon the 
effect of what he was about to read. He began in 
a voice of thunder, but from the first everything 
went against him. His horrible charges against 
these poor women were ridiculous, and his most 
fiery outbursts were received in cold silence. So 
he lowered his voice, and stammered through with 
the indictment, finishing it up as quickly as possi¬ 
ble. 

“ The trial then began. Every detail of it was 
just the same. All kinds of questions were put to 
the nuns, to make them criminate themselves, but 
they always answered quietly, and every one knew 
that what they said was true. There was not one 
in the court, even the worst disposed, that was not 
sure of their innocence, and that they had right on 
their side. No one had ever come into the court 
with a braver face than Madame de Lafare. Her 
answers fairly crushed the judges, and reduced their 


292 


THE TERROR. 


accusations to powder. The false witnesses, called 
to testify against the nuns, were frightened by her 
proud looks, and became so confused that murmurs 
were heard from every part of the house. The court 
had never seen anything like it. The judge was furi¬ 
ous, and ordered the hall to be cleared, threatening 
that the first person who showed the least sign of 
pity for the accused would be imprisoned as a sus¬ 
pect. Then the drums beat and the volunteers were 
called out, they said to protect the Republic against 
the factions, but in reality to escort the religious to 
the guillotine; for, as soon as the hall was cleared, 
the judges, without much deliberation, condemned 
the prisoners to death. They came out as they had 
gone in, two by two, between a double row of brig¬ 
ands, armed with pikes and muskets. They were 
admirable, their faces lit up by faith and the hope of 
martyrdom. When they reached the scaffold, which 
was surrounded by a dense crowd of silent and agitated 
spectators, they raised their veils, and stood round 
the foot of the scaffold, to sing the Litany for the 
Dying. Then they knelt, one by one, before the 
abbess, who gave them her blessing and pointed up 
to heaven. The executioner and his assistants were 
waiting upon the scaffold. The first nun raised her 
veil, arranged the folds of her dress, and went up 
the steps. She was very young and extremely beau¬ 
tiful, and with a countenance so sweet that it brought 
tears to many eyes. When she reached the top, she 


THE TERROR. 


293 


clasped her hands, and knek upon the boards, as if 
she were going to receive Communion. The execu¬ 
tioner pushed her forward, the knife fell, and she had 
gone to heaven. 

Long live the Republic! Death to aristocrats '! * 
cried a few voices; but these cries were not taken 
up, and died away in a threatening murmur. A 
second religious ascended the scaffold. She was an 
elderly woman with an energetic face; she looked 
round a moment, smiling and confident, raised her 
hands to heaven, and knelt as her companion had 
done, while her sisters at the foot of the scaffold still 
sang the Litany for the Dying. 

“ As each head fell, pity turned into anger. The 
storm was gathering. Mile, de Blesignan’s execu¬ 
tion made it burst forth. Many of the spectators 
had known her; many had experienced kindness 
from her. When they saw her standing on the scaf¬ 
fold, with her pale face, her large blue eyes, so sweet 
and heavenly, her queenly figure, her golden hair 
cut short under the veil, which had been removed, 
there was a pause as if they were all stupefied. The 
Litany was just ended; the religious, who were 
themselves to die, sang the Te Deum over the 
corpses of their companions. It was a hymn of 
triumph in honor of the eleven virgin martyrs, whom 
they seemed to see soaring with green palm-branches 
above the blood-stained scaffold. 

“ ‘ Pardon ! pardon ! ’ cried the crowd, pressing in 


2 9 4 


THE TERROR. 


a threatening manner around the volunteers of the 
Republic. 

“ The executioner hesitated. 

“ ‘ Come, hurry up, and finish your work ! ’ cried 
the commander of the escort, with a fearful oath. 

“ * Pardon ! pardon ! ’ * No more executions ! ’ 
roared the threatening crowd. It seemed as if Mile. 
Ren£e was afraid that the crown of martyrdom would 
be snatched from her. 

“ She looked round entreatingly, as if saying, ‘ Let 
me die for God and my religion,’ and, crossing her 
arms, knelt down. One of the executioners advanced; 
but before he could touch her, the noble daughter 
of the Marquis had laid her neck upon the block, 
the red knife gleamed, the blood gushed forth, and 
her beautiful head rolled into the basket. Then the 
repressed rage of the spectators burst forth. There 
were cries of, ‘ Death to the assassins ! ’ on all sides. 
The volunteers were pushed forward to the very 
steps of the scaffold. A shower of stones fell around 
the executioner; one of them struck the commander 
in the head, and threw him down covered with 
blood. 

“ Fear seized upon the brigands; they surrounded 
the thirteen religious who were awaiting their turn, 
and brought them back to prison amid shouts and 
curses and groans. It was whispered that an old 
nun had predicted to Madame de Lafare that she 
should be very near death and escape it. On her 


THE TERROR. 


295 


return to prison she wept that she had not followed 
her daughters to the tribunal of God.” * 

11 What they did not do to-daj^ they will do to¬ 
morrow,” cried Bernard; “these monsters will not 
let their prey escape.” 

“Who knows?” said Marius. “The man who 
told me all this said that the guillotine had been set 
on fire, and the knife broken; that the volunteers 
had to hide, and that he would not be surprised if 
the Reign of Terror were nearly over. Oh, I would 
joyfully give my life to see the end of it.” 

“ Well spoken, lad ! ” said Bernard, deeply moved 
by what he had heard, and perhaps even more by 
the profoundly Christian sentiments of Marius, whom, 
he now reproached himself, he had unjustly sus¬ 
pected. 

“ Yes,” continued Theresine, “ these excesses fill 
us with horror, and I tremble lest, some day or other, 
we may learn that our good Monsieur Frederic has 
perished in the same way.” 

“Certainly,” said Marius, “I felt great sorrow 
for the death of Mile, de BRsignan, whose life I 
once saved with the help of our noble master; but 
if anything should happen to the Chevalier, I would 


* The defence of the Castle of B16signan is a historical fact, 
the proofs of which the author has in his hands; the execution 
of the Trinitarians at Bolene also took place under the circum¬ 
stances described above. Madame de Lafare and twelve other 
nuns were taken back to prison, and released after the fall of 
Robespierre. 



296 


THE TERROR. 


be inconsolable. Ah, those who think and say that 
I would rejoice at his death are indeed mistaken; no 
one is more attached to him than I. I must really 
love him better than myself, to disgrace myself for 
his sake alone, by appearing to share the opinion of 
these infamous republicans, whom I hold in horror.” 

Bernard, who was honesty itself, never doubted 
that these words of Marius came straight from his 
heart; his face fairly beamed as he arose and clasped 
him in his arms, saying: 

“ Pardon me, my son, that I have too long mis¬ 
trusted you; now I more than believe in you. I am 
certain that you are one of ourselves, a good royalist, 
ready to restore his property to the Chevalier as 
soon as he returns.” 

“ Restore it ? ” cried Marius. “ Did you for a mo¬ 
ment suppose that I considered myself anything more 
than what I had always been—the overseer ? ” 

“ Then you would give up his lands to him without 
regret ? ’ ' 

“ Say rather with the greatest pleasure; I would 
cry out to him: 

“ ‘ Chevalier, we have kept guard, in your absence, 
at the door of your house. Here are the keys; take 
them back. You owe us no gratitude; we have only 
done our duty.’ ” 

“Do you hear, Th£r£sine, do you hear?” cried 
the old man, weeping with joy. “ And to think 
that I distrusted him, that for security I made him 


THE TERROR. 


2 9 7 


sign a paper which I confided to a notary with my 
will. To-morrow I will go and bring that paper here. 
I want you to tear it up in my presence. Do you 
hear, Marius?” 

“ Yes, father, I hear and thank you; but I will 
not accept your offer. I want you to be able to say 
to Monsieur Frederic: 

“ ‘ It is I, your old foster-father, who redeemed 
your estate and now restores it to you.’ ” 

These sentiments were so very fine that Th£r£sine 
instinctively felt them to be at least exaggerated. 
However, unwilling to disturb her father’s happi¬ 
ness, and to reawaken suspicions which she was con¬ 
scious of having shared, she made pretence of going 
upstairs to close the windows, which she always 
opened during the day to air the house, and left the 
room. It was already dark, and taking a lamp she 
went up to the room once occupied by her dear Ger¬ 
maine. The air was infinitely sweet and balmy; she 
went out on the balcony, where all was fragrant with 
the breath of many flowers which her own hands had 
cultivated, in memory of her whom she had so loved. 
Standing there her thoughts reverted to the past. 
The sky was frosted with many stars; the sight of it 
awoke a memory, and unconsciously, without know¬ 
ing why, she began to sing: 

“ O Magali, ma tant amado, 

Mete la teste au fenestroun ! 

Escouto un pau aquesto aubado 
De tambourin e de viouloun,” 


298 


THE TERROR. 


She remembered then how she had sung this song 
years before, down in the garden among the flowers, 
and how Frederic had replied from without the hedge. 

She leaned her head sadly upon her hand. All at 
once she heard a light step; she quickly raised her 
head, and almost screamed as she perceived a figure 
advancing in the shadow of the wall. Theresine was 
distinctly visible to any one without, because of the 
lamp on the table; but its light prevented her from 
distinguishing objects. She was about to warn her 
husband that there was some one prowling around 
the house, when a rich, sweet voice, tremulous with 
emotion, took up the second verse of the song: 

“ Ei plen d’estello, aperamount ! 

L ’auro es toumbado, 

Mai lis est61o paliran 
Quand te veiran !” 

Theresine stood motionless, overcome with amaze¬ 
ment; it seemed as if her heart would leap out of 
her breast. But the voice which had produced this 
effect once hushed, the charm was broken, and the 
Provengale, excited, beside herself, half frantic, 
rushed headlong downstairs and into the room where 
her husband and father sat, crying: 

“ Quick ! quick ! he is here! My God ! have pity 
on him, save him ! ’* 

“ What is it ? what is the matter ?” cried the two 
men, amazed at her inexplicable behavior. 

But without even listening to them, she opened 


THE TERROR. 


299 


the door and rushed out into the darkness. Marius 
seized his gun, loaded the barrels, and followed, sup¬ 
posing that there were thieves in the garden. Ber¬ 
nard, of the same opinion, took his carabine and 
loaded it. In those troublous times people were pre¬ 
pared for anything. He was about to go out, when 
Theresine came in fairly beaming with joy, followed 
by a stranger, whose face and figure were completely 
concealed by a cloak and a broad-brimmed hat. Be¬ 
hind his wife came Marius, musket in hand and with 
threatening aspect, for he knew not with whom he 
had to deal or how he was to treat the new-comer. 

“ Come in without fear,” cried Theresine; “ there 
are none here but ourselves.” 

Then turning to her husband, she said: 

“ Close the door carefully.” 

Still the unknown one was silent, and made no 
movement towards solving the mystery. Naturally 
impatient, the old huntsman snatched up a candle 
from the table, and held it to the stranger’s face. 
He saw that it was that of a man about thirty years 
of age, with fiery red hair and beard, whose throat 
and chin were concealed by a muffler, while an ample 
cloak covered him completely, showing only the tops 
of his high boots and the end of one of those heavy 
clubs which were sometimes worn only as a fashion¬ 
able eccentricity, but which in the hands of a 
determined man might easily become a terrible 
weapon. 


3 °o 


THE TERROR. 


“Well, who are you, and what do you want?’’ 
cried Marius, angrily. 

“ It is a sad thing to have risked one’s head a hun¬ 
dred times for the sake of shaking hands with some 
old friends who do not even recognize me,”'cried the 
stranger, throwing off his hat and the red wig which 
concealed his black silky hair. 

“Monsieur Frederic, my son!” cried Bernard, 
trembling violently. 

“ Well, old comrade, will you not embrace me ?” 
asked Frederic. 

“ Oh, my good, my dear master !” cried the old 
man, melting into tears and opening his arms to 
receive the outlaw. 

Pale as death, a prey to mingled rage and despair 
at beholding the Chevalier under this roof, of which 
he had believed himself the proprietor, Marius stood 
gazing upon his abhorred rival, that execrable noble 
to whom he must now restore an inheritance which 
he had believed entirely his own. He trembled 
in every limb with uncontrollable rage, whilst his 
teeth chattered and a cold sweat stood out upon his 
forehead. 

“ Oh, that I had met him alone in the Sansouire,” 
he thought, “ and he would never have reached here 
alive! ” 

Rooted to the spot by his blind passion, he con¬ 
vulsively clasped the barrel of his gun, the while his 
wife and father-in-law seemed to mock him by the 


THE TERROR. 


3 OT 

eagerness with which they pressed round this fine 
Chevalier, for whom he himself, a few minutes before, 
had stupidly made so many professions of devotion. 
How he would have liked to see that head falling 
under the blade of the guillotine! What did it mat¬ 
ter to him that so many others had fallen, since for 
him the Republic, that is to say, his whole fortune, 
all his ill-gotten gains, depended upon that one head. 

“ Will you not shake hands with me too, my dear 
Marius ?” asked Frederic, turning to him. 

Sullenly the patriot gave his hand. 

“ Come, I see that you have not forgotten my 
double shot at the partridges,” said the officer, smiling. 

“ Don’t believe a word of it, Monsieur Frederic,” 
said Bernard, hastily. “ We were talking of you 
only a few minutes ago, and he said that the happiest 
day of his life would be that upon which he could 
restore you your lands and your chateau, saying: 
‘ Here is your property; now if you wish to keep me 
as your overseer, do.’ ” 

“ Bad head and good heart, why then do you give 
me so cold a greeting ? ” said Frederic. “ Are you 
afraid I will compromise you ? ” 

“ I am not a noble, and there is no price on my 
head,” said Marius, dryly and with a sinister smile. 

Th£r£sine looked anxiously at her husband; the 
expression of his face made her shudder. 

“ Perhaps you would like to get that price ?” said 
the dragoon, jestingly. 


3° 2 


THE TERROR. 


“ If not I, there are plenty of others to try for it,” 
growled Marius; “ and the simple fact of your pres¬ 
ence here, were it known, would send us all to the 
scaffold.” 

“ True ! ” murmured Theresine. “ If you are dis¬ 
covered, you are lost; you do not know how bad the 
country has become. How had you ever the cour¬ 
age to come here ? ” 

“ I know it was wrong for me to come here, since 
by doing so I expose you all to danger. I should 
have considered that the fatal fever which is consum¬ 
ing France must have reached my dear country by 
this time. But as soon as my presence was useless 
in Paris after the death of our beloved King and his 
royal consort, I left there to join the army of the 
coalition. In order to avoid pursuit, I was obliged 
to take the longest way, that is to say, through Pro¬ 
vence. So when I got as far as Saint-Gilles through 
the mountains, I could not resist the temptation of 
coming here to see you, to tell you that I am still 
alive. Besides, before I get killed, or at least before 
I am expatriated for long years, I wanted to hunt 
once more upon the Valcares. However, do not be 
afraid. I only ask you to give me shelter for one 
night, and—” 

“ Give you shelter, Monsieur le Chevalier !” inter¬ 
rupted Bernard, impetuously—“ we who are on your 
lands and in your house, where you have given us 
shelter^ It is for your safety alone that we tremble, 


THE TERROR. 


3°3 


even were there danger for the rest of us. Thank 
God, no one suspects your presence in the coun¬ 
try; the patriots never think of making a domiciliary 
visit here, and, in any case, it would be easy to 
conceal you. The domain is large, and thanks to 
Marius, who has caused the fish and game laws to be 
respected more strictly than your noble father ever 
did in his lifetime, or than you will ever do, no 
poachers dare approach the house. I do not be¬ 
lieve there is a person on the estate capable of treach¬ 
ery; but there are some who might be indiscreet. 
I will keep them out of the way when it is necessary. 
Remain here as long as possible. During the day 
you will stay with us, unless our society is wearisome 
to you; or spend your time reading or writing in the 
castle, for you cannot go out while it is light. But 
at night you can hunt or fish from vespers till matins. 
The mist is dangerous to the health, but has its own 

yy 

use. 

“ Thanks, my brave comrade, thanks,” said the 
officer, warmly; “ it is only what I would have ex¬ 
pected from your devotion. I know you all well 
enough to feel that I can depend upon any of you 
as upon myself; but I made up my mind before I 
came not to impose upon this fidelity. I can only 
remain here twenty-four hours*; other fugitives like 
myself, implicated, as I am, in the unsuccessful plot 
which was organized to save the Queen and only 
succeeded in sending several of those concerned in 


3°4 


THE TERROR. 


it to the gallows, will await me to-morrow evening 
on the seashore. The master of a vessel, the Grau- 
du-Roi, not for money, but out of generosity, will 
take us on board his ship. I promised to bring my 
comrades the result of our shooting excursion, which 
I will take in remembrance of your generous hos¬ 
pitality. I depend upon you, Marius, to row me 
across the Valcares to a spot which I will indicate. 
There we will part, perhaps forever, but at least with 
the certainty that we are all living, and are friends in 
adversity as in prosperity, when far apart as when 
together.” 

Old Bernard was moved to tears. He would have 
given half his life to keep Frederic with them, but 
he knew the danger to which his young master would 
inevitably be exposed by remaining longer in France; 
so he answered in a trembling voice: 

“ I dare not say that it was wrong for you to come 
here; but since you have a chance of escape, take 
it. To-morrow night, Marius and I will accompany 
you to the seashore. To-morrow morning, at dawn, 
we will go to shoot upon the Valcarks; the ducks 
are not very numerous yet, but we will certainly 
bring down some of them, and also some other game. 
We will breakfast upon one of the islands, whither 
Th6resine can bring us some partridges which have 
been hanging a day or two in the larder. I hope it 
will not be our last hunting expedition together, 
though I am old; but if you do not find me here, 


THE TERROR. 


305 


on your return, Theresine and Marius will receive 
you.” 

“ You will be here too, my old friend,” cried Fred¬ 
eric. “ Believe me, the Revolution will not last much 
longer; we shall soon restore order with the army of 
the coalition. But away with such gloomy thoughts! 
Let us talk of the good old times, and of our pleas¬ 
ant day to-morrow. Marius, I trust to you to make 
all the preparations; and Th£r£sine, if your larder is 
as well stocked as Bernard hints, give me something 
to eat, for I am half dead with hunger and thirst.” 

“ Fortunately, I put aside some bottles of that 
good Provencal wine which you used to like so much,” 
said Bernard. “ Marius, you know where it is; bring 
it out. What remains we will take with us in the 
boat.” 

They were soon seated round the table, where the 
outlaw drank toasts to his friends and to the speedy 
arrival of the princes, and recovered some of his old 
gayety and good spirits as he talked shooting and 
fishing with his foster-father. 

The night was far advanced, when Bernard, fear¬ 
ing that the Chevalier would be too much fatigued, 
suggested that it was time to retire. 

“ Who will wake me ?” said the young man as he 
went up to his old room, “ for I warn you that I will 
sleep like a top. Will you, Marius ?” 

'‘With pleasure, Monsieur le Chevalier,” said the 
overseer, who was quite restored to good humor. 


3°6 


THE TERROR. 


“ At what hour do you wish to start ?” 

“ At five o’clock.” 

** That is rather too early; the mist is thick in the 
morning, and I advise you to wait till six.” 

“ Till six, then, but not later.” 

“ At six precisely. Sound sleep to you, Monsieur 
Frederic.” 

“ Thanks. Do not forget the guns; mine must 
be rusty.” 

“ Oh, no! ” cried Bernard, “ I have kept it in order 
myself, and I assure you it will not hang fire.” 

With this they separated for the night, and an 
hour later all was in darkness. 

“ I will sleep to-night in the hay-loft,” said Marius 
to his wife, “ for I must get up very early to mend 
the boat. I do not want to disturb the poor Chev¬ 
alier, who must be worn out. So go to bed and 
sleep, and do not be anxious about me.” 

Theresine made no objection, closed and bolted 
the door, and put out the light, but she did not sleep. 
Very soon after she fancied she heard a slight noise 
in the yard; she jumped up, peeped out through a 
crack in the shutter, and saw her husband in the act 
of bringing a horse from the stable, with its hoofs 
wrapped in straw. The horse was saddled and bridled. 
Marius led him out carefully, closed the gate after 
him, and in a moment more Theresine heard the 
sound of a horse galloping. Where could her hus¬ 
band be going so stealthily ? A terrible suspicion 


THE TERROR. 


3°7 


crossed her mind, and she at first thought of com¬ 
municating it to her father, but on reflection she re¬ 
frained. She did not, however, go back to bed. 

“ There will be time enough,” thought she; and 
having assured herself that the guns and the oars 
were in their place, she waited in an agony of sus¬ 
pense for daylight. About four in the morning, the 
gate of the court opened again. Theresine saw Mar¬ 
ius, on foot this time, gliding softly into the stable. 
Over his shoulder was the harness of his horse, which 
he had probably set at liberty to avert suspicion. 
Half an hour later Bernard came into the kitchen; the 
coffee was already made, the guns on the table. In 
the chimney-corner sat Theresine, plucking partridges. 
He reproached her gently for being up so early. 

“ I could not sleep,” said she. 

“ Neither could I,” he answered. “ The thought 
of to-day’s sport kept me awake.” 

“ The weather is splendid; there will be no mist 
this morning,” she continued. ** You had better 
start at five o’clock.” 

“ It would be better, but the Chevalier would not 
be ready.” 

“ What makes you think that, old friend ?” said 
Frederic himself, slapping him on the shoulder. 
“ Let us take our coffee and be off.” 

“ Who woke you so very early, Monsieur Fred¬ 
eric ? ” 

“ Th£r£sine, of course. Why, what time is it?” 



3°8 


THE TERROR. 


“ Five at latest.” 

“ What did you do that for ? ” said the old man, 
somewhat crossly, to Theresine. 

“ It is such a fine morning,” she answered. 

“ And here we are almost ready. But we shall 
have to wait for Marius,” continued Bernard. 

” I will call him,” said Theresine. 

Trembling with emotion, she knocked at the stable- 
door. 

“ Who’s there ? ” inquired a sleepy voice. 

“ Get up; they are waiting for you.” 

“ How stupid ! It is only five, and we do not 
start till half-past six,” growled the voice. 

“ I tell you they are waiting.” 

“ In the devil’s name, give me time to get on my 
clothes.” 

Theresine returned to the house and, having served 
the coffee, went and took the glass which had been 
left in Madame’s room. As far off as she could see 
in the plain there were only cattle and a few guard¬ 
ians; she came down somewhat reassured. Marius 
had not yet appeared; he was long in dressing. 

“ Do you think we are going to shoot with bullets ? ” 
cried Bernard. “It was well I noticed your mistake. 
Look at that pouch ! ” 

“ Take them with you, father, I implore you,” 
she said in a supplicating tone. 

“ I think you are crazy.” 

“ No, but you might meet with some mischance 


THE TERROR. 


309 


in going out, and I warn you that I have loaded 
your guns with balls. Once upon the river, you can 
discharge them if you like.” 

“ Let me alone. Do you think that—” 

“ My dear Bernard,” interrupted Frederic, “ Th£- 
r£sine thought she was doing for the best, and a ball 
more or less does not make much difference.” 

“ Above all things, do not tell Marius; he would 
scold me,” said Th£r£sine. 

Just then Marius entered. He was in very bad 
humor at having been awakened so early, and did 
not want to start till the appointed hour. He sud¬ 
denly noticed a pair of oars standing against the door. 

“ Who put those oars there ? ” he asked. 

“ I did,” said Ther6sine. 

“ To the devil with women, who are always med¬ 
dling in what does not concern them! That pair are 
no good.” 

And he would have removed them. 

“ Ah! those are my old oars,” said Frederic, “ the 
ones I used to prefer; it was a woman’s thought. 
Thanks, Ther£sine. Leave them, Marius; I will use 
them.” 

Th£r£sine left the room on some pretence, and 
went upstairs again. She had observed some stains 
of fresh mud on her husband’s trousers, and she there¬ 
fore knew that he must have crossed the Sansouire, 
which was the shortest way to Arles. She strained 
her eyes in the direction of the town. 


3 io 


THE TERROR. 


Downstairs, in the kitchen, the men were drinking 
their coffee. Bernard was grumbling; his son-in-law 
seemed to have so many things to do, and had not 
yet finished his preparations when the clock struck 
six. 

Th£resine suddenly rushed in, pale as death. 

“ Marius,” said she, “ go and look out at the gate; 
“it seems to me that there are men coming hither 
from Arles.” 

“ I really believe that woman is determined to 
drive us out of our senses,” said Marius, stamping 
on the ground in a rage, and with a fearful oath he 
shrugged his shoulders and went out. 

“ Quick ! quick ! Take your oars and your guns, 
and fly to the boat. The Blues are coming,” cried 
Ther6sine. “ I saw them; you are betrayed ! ” 

“ Betrayed ? by whom ?” cried Bernard. 

“ By him,” she said, pointing after her husband. 
“ Last night he went and denounced the Chevalier.” 

“Curses on him!” cried Bernard. “Are you 
sure ? ” 

“ No, but I am sure that the horsemen coming 
here are the Blues. There is still time to reach the 
boat; once on the water, they cannot harm you. 
But fly, in the name of Heaven ! ” 

Bernard snatched up the oars and his carabine. 

“Come,” said he, “Monsieur Frederic, come!” 

“ I will go alone. I forbid you to accompany 
me, my brave friend,” said the Chevalier. 


THE TERROR. 


3” 

“ And I command you to follow me,” said the old 
man, opening the door. 

But Marius had closed the courtyard gate from 
without, to prevent their escape. 

“This way! this way!” cried Theresine, half- 
crazed with grief. “ Go by the garden; the boat is 
there. “ Take this axe, cut the moorings, and row 
for your lives.” 

All three rushed into the garden. 

** Farewell, Th£r£sine. May Heaven reward you ! ” 
cried the outlaw, grasping the hand of the weeping 
woman. And leaping over the hedge, the two men 
rushed towards the boat. 

So busy was he making signals for the Blues to 
hasten, that the traitor never perceived the fugitives 
till they had just cut the cord which secured the 
vessel. Then, in his mad fury, he threw off the 
mask. 

“ This way,” he cried to the republicans, “ this 
way ! Fire upon those brigands ! ” 

The horsemen came up at full gallop. 

“ Row for your life, Monsieur Frederic ! ” cried 
Bernard, pushing the boat off. 

“ Fire upon the one rowing, fire !” cried Marius, 
foaming with rage; and seeing that the Blues were 
only wasting their useless balls, he snatched a cara¬ 
bine from the hand of a soldier, knelt down to take 
surer aim, and fired. The boat gave a sudden 
lurch. 


312 


THE TERROR. 


“For all the saints, row straight ! ” roared Bernard 
to Frederic. 

“ He has revenged my lucky shot at the partridges,” 
murmured Frederic, letting go the oars and putting 
one hand to a wound in his breast, while he held out 
the other, all covered with blood, to his old friend. 

“ Monsieur le Chevalier,” muttered the old man, 
his face darkening with a terrible look, “do not die 
for a moment.” 

Marius saw the fatal weapon directed against him¬ 
self. He knew that Bernard’s aim was certain, and 
made an effort to escape. Bernard fired; the traitor 
did not fall, though he trembled violently, and threw 
up his arms with a despairing gesture. 

“ Be accursed, wretch !” cried Bernard, “ be ac¬ 
cursed, murderer of your brother ! ” 

Standing up in the boat, his own breast a target 
for the republicans, Bernard took aim again. His 
ball struck Marius in the forehead. The wretch fell, 
a shapeless mass, his face in the mud, writhed an 
instant like a serpent, and was still. Then the old 
man forgot everything but his hapless master, and 
knelt beside him, kissing the wound by which that 
noble soul was going out, and watering his corpse 
with tears. Beside the Chevalier lay his musket, 
still loaded with two balls. Bernard never even 
thought of using it, but took the oars, and, crippled 
with wounds as he was, rowed on and on, until his 
strength failed. The frail canoe, riddled with balls, 


THE TERROR. 


3*3 


was beginning to fill. Knowing that it must soon 
sink, Bernard bent the knee in a last prayer. Death 
surprised him thus; his head had fallen on the breast 
of his foster-son, while the canoe, sinking gradually, 
disappeared at last, under the blue winding-sheet 
formed by the deep waters of the Valcares, on the 
spot since called “ the Grave of the Noble.” 

For many years after this tragic episode, pilgrims 
coming to les Saintes-Maries saw at the cemetery- 
gate a woman, still young and clothed in rags, who 
came every evening to sit beside a grave, singing 
softly to herself: 

“ O Magali, ma tant amado, 

Mete la teste au fenestroun! 

Escouto un pau aquesto aubado 
De tambourin e de viouloun.” 

When she had got that far she stopped, and seemed 
to listen breathlessly. Alas! the voice of the Chev¬ 
alier would never more take up the refrain: 

“ Ei plen d’estello, aperamount! 

L’auro es toumbado.” 

Having listened vainly for the voice that could not 
come from the farther shore, she arose sorrowfully, and 
went to kneel on the steps of the church, where she, 
weeping, prayed for the souls of the departed. One 
year they missed her, and the poor maniac was found 
lifeless on the banks of the Valcarfcs. It was Thdre- 
sine, holding a rose in her hand, and there was a smile 
upon her lips. 

PRINTED BY BENZIGER BROTHERS, NEW YORK. 






, , . . . 









































































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The Circus-Riders Daughter* 



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10 BENZIGER BE0THETIS' STANDARD CATHOLIC BOOKS. 


Merrick, Rev. D. A., S.J. 

Saints of the Society of Jesus. i6mo, paper, net, io cents ; cloth 
gilt, net , 25 cents. 

A Sketch of the Society of Jesus. i6mo, paper, net , 10 cents; 
clo'h gilt, net , 25 cents. 

Miraculous Power of the Memorare, illustrated by Examples. 

From the French of a Marist Father, by Miss Ella McMahon. 
Paper, 10 cents ; per 100, $6 00 

Maroquette, 20 cents ; per 100, $12 00 

Mistress of Novices, The, instructed in her Duties; or, a Method of 
Direction for the use of Persons charged with the Training of Souls in 
Christian Perfection. From the French of the Abbe Leguay, by Rev. 
Ignatius Sisk. i2mo, cloth, net , 75 cents. 

Monk’s Pardon. A Historical Romance of the Time of Philip IV. of 
Spain. From the French of Raoul de N avery by Anna T. Sadlier- 
12mo, cloth, $1 25 


Month of the Dead ; or, Prompt and Easy Deliverance of the Souls in 
Purgatory. From the French of the Abbe Cloquet, by a Sister of 
Mercy. Approved by the Sacred Congregation, by His Lordship, the 
Archbishop of Bourges, and His Grace, the Archbishop of New York, 
With a steel-plate Frontispiece. 32mo, cloth. 75 cents. 

Month of May. From the French of Father Debussi, S.J., by Miss 
Ella McMahon. 4th edition. 241110, cloth, 50 cents. 

Muller, Rev. Michael, C.SS.R. 


God the Teacher of Mankind. A plain, comprehensive Explanation 
of Christian Doctrine. 9 vols., crown 8vo, cloth. 

The Church and her Enemies, net, $1 10 

The Apostles’ Creed, net, 1 10 

The First and Greatest Commandment, net, 1 40 

Explanation of the Commandments, continued. Pre¬ 
cepts of the Church, net, 1 10 

Dignity, Authority, and Duties o£ Parents, Ecclesi¬ 
astical and Civil Powers. Their enemies, net , 1 40 

Grace and the Sacraments, net, 1 25 

Holy Mass, net, 1 25 

Eucharist and Penance, net, 1 10 

Sacramentals—Prayers, etc., net, 1 00 

Familiar Explanation of Catholic Doctrine for the Family and 
more Advanced Students in Catholic Colleges, Academies, and High 
Schools, for Persons of Culture, Old as well as Young. With a 
popular Refutation of the Principal Modern Errors. i2mo, cloth, $1 00 
The Prodigal Son; or, The Sinner’s Return to God Crown 8vo, 
cloth, net, $1 00 


The Devotion of the Holy Rosary and the Five Scapulars. 

Crown 8vo, net, 75 cents. 

No Salvation out of the Church. Crown 8vo, cloth, net , $1 00 
The Catholic Priesthood. 2 vols. Crown 8vo, cloth, net , $3 00 



BENZTGER BROTHERS’ STANDARD CATHOLIC BOOKS. 11 


My First Communion: The Happiest Day of My Life. A Prep¬ 
aration and Remembrance for First Communicants. From the German 
of Rev. J. N. Buchmann, O.S.B., by Rev. Richard Brennan, LL.D. 
i6mo, cloth, elegant. Illustrated, 75 cents. 

Names that Live in Catholic Hearts. Cardinal Ximenes—Michael 
Angelo—Samuel de Champlain—Archbishop Plunkett—Charles Carroll—- 
Henry Larochejacquelein—Simon de Montfort. By Miss Anna T. 
Sadlier. i2mo, cloth, $1 00 

Natalie Narischkin, Sister of Charity of St. Vincent of Paul. From 
the French by Lady G. Fullerton. i2mo, cloth, $1 00 

Novena in Honor of the Holy Face of Our Lord. Adapted 

from the French by the Sisters of the Divine Compassion. Paper, 10 
cents ; per 100, $6 00 

Maroquette, 20 cents ; per 100, 12 00 

Novena in Honor of St. Catharine de Ricci, a Religious of the 
Third Order of St. Dominic. By the Dominican Sisters, Albany, N. Y. 
32mo, paper, net > 10 cents. 

O’Grady, Eleanor. 

Aids to Correct and Effective Elocution. With Selected 
Readings and Recitations for Practice. i2mo, cloth, $1 25 

Select Recitations for Catholic Schools and Academies. i2mo- 
cloth, 00 

Readings and Recitations for Juniors. i6mo, cloth, net , 50 cents. 

On Christian Art. By Edith Healy. i6mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

On the Condition of Labor. Encyclical Letter of Our Holy Father, 
Pope Leo XIII. 8vo, paper, 10 cents; per 100, $6 00 

One Angel More in Heaven. With Letters of Condolence and of 
Consolation by St. Francis de Sales and others. White mar., 50 cents. 
Our Birthday Bouquet. Culled from the Shrines of the Saints and 
the Gardens of the Poets. By Eleanor C. Donnelly. i6mo. 
cloth, 00 

Our Lady of Good Counsel in Genazzano. A History of that 
Ancient Sanctuary and of the wonderful Apparition and Miraculous 
Translation in 1467 of Our Lady’s Sacred Image from Scutari to 
Genazzano. By Anne R. Bennett, nee Gladstone, 32mo, cloth, 75 cts. 

Our Own Will and How to Detect it in Our Actions. Instructions 
intended for Religious. Applicable also to all who aim at the Perfect 
Life. By the Rev. John Allen, D.D. i2mo, cloth, net , 75 cents. 

Paradise on Earth Opened to All; or, A Religious Vocation the 
Surest Way in Life. 321110, cloth, 5 ° cents. 

Path which led a Protestant Lawyer to the Catholic 

Church. By P. H. Burnett. 8vo, cloth, $2 00 



12 BENZIGER BROTHERS’ STANDARD CATHOLIC BOOKS. 


Philosophy, English Manuals of Catholic. 


1. Logic. By Richard F. Clarke, S.J. i2mo, cloth, net , $i 25 

2. First Principles of Knowledge. By John Rickaby, S.J., 

Professor of Logic and General Metaphysics at St. Mary’s Hall, 
Stonyhurst. i2mo, cloth, net , $1 25 

3. Moral Philosophy (Ethics and Natural Law). By Joseph 

Rickaby, S.J. 121110, cloth, net , $1 25 

4. Natural Theology. By Bernard Boedder, S.J., Professor of 

Natural Theology at Stonyhurst. i2mo, cloth, net , $1 50 

5. Psychology. By Michael Maher, S.J., Professor of Mental 

Philosophy at Stonyhurst College. 121110, cloth, net, $t 50 

6. General Metaphysics. By John Rickaby, S.J. i2mo, cloth, 

net , $1 25 

7. A Manual of Political Economy. By C. S. Devas, Esq., M.A., 

Examiner in Economy in the Royal University of Ireland. i2mo, 
cloth, net , $1 50 

Pictorial Lives of the Saints. With Reflections for Every Day in 
the Year. Including the Lives of the American Saints recently placed 
on the Calender for the United States by petition of the Third Plenary 
Council of Baltimore, and also the Lives of the Saints, canonized in 
1881 by His Holiness Pope Leo XIII. Edited by John Gilmary 
Shea, LL.D. 50th Thousand. 8vo, cloth, $2 00 

5 copies, $6.65—10 copies, $12.50—25 copies, $27.50—50 copies, $50.00. 

Practice of Humility, The. By His Holiness Pope Leo XIII. 
From the Italian by Rev. J. F. X. O’Conor, S.J. 32mo. 

With red line. Cloth gilt, 50 cents. 

Without red line. 

Paper, 10 cents; per 100, $6 00 

Maroquette, 20 “ “ 12 00 

Praxis Synodalis. Manuale Synodi Diocesanae ac Provincialis 
Celebrandae. i2mo, cloth, net , 60 cents. 

Primer for Converts, A. Showing the Reasonable Service of Catho¬ 


lics. By Rev. J. T. Durward. 321110, cloth, flexible, net, 25 cents. 
Principles of Anthropology and Biology. By Rev. Thomas 
Hughes, S.J. Second edition. i6mo, cloth, net , 75 cents. 

Reading and the Mind, with Something to Read. By Rev. 

J. F. X. O’Conor, S.J. Second edition. Paper, 25 cents. 

Religious State, The. Together with a Short Treatise on the Vocation 
to the Priesthood. From the Italian of St. Alphonsus de Liguori. 
Edited by Rev. Eugene Grimm, C.SS.R. 321110, cloth, 50 cents. 
Rights of Our Little Ones; or, First Principles on Education in 
Catechetical Form. By Rev. James Conway, S.J. 

32mo, paper, 15 cents; per 100, $9 00 

“ cloth inked, 25 “ “ 12 00 

Rosary, The Most Holy, in Thirty-one Meditations, Prayers, and 
Examples, suitable for the Months of May and October. With prayers. 
By Rev. Eugene Grimm, C.SS.R. 321110, cloth, 50 cents. 

Maroquette, 35 cents. 



BENZIGER BROTHERS * STANDARD OaTHOLIC BOOKS. 13 

Russo, N., S.J. —De Philosophia Morali Pnelectiones in Collegio 
Georgiopolitano Soc. Jes. Anno 1889-90 Habitae, a Patre Nicolao 
Russo. Editio altera. 8vo, half leather, net, $2 00 

Sacramentals of the Holy Catholic Church, The. By Rev. 

A. A. Lambing, LL.D., author of “A Plistory of the Catholic Church 
in the Dioceses of Pittsburgh and Alleghany, ’’etc. i2mo, cloth, net , $1 25 

Sacred Heart, Books on the. 

Devotions to the Sacred Heart for the First Friday of Every 
Month. From the French of P. Huguet, Marist, by a Sister of 
Mercy. Cloth, red edges, with a steel-plate Frontispiece, 40 cents. 

213. Imitation Levant, limp, gilt centre, round corners, edges red under gold, $i 35 

Familiar Conferences on the Theology of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. 
By Rev. E. M. Hennessy. i2mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents. 

Imitation of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. By Rev. F. Arnoudt, 
S.J. From the Latin by Rev. J. M. Fastre, S.J. i2ino, cloth, $2 00 

Month of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Devotions for Every day 
of the Month. From the French of Rev. Father Huguet, by a Sister 
of Mercy. 32mo, cloth, 75 cents. 

One and Thirty Days with Blessed Margaret Mary. From the 
French by a Visitandine of Baltimore. 32mo, maroquette, 25 cents. 

Pearls from the Casket of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. A Collec¬ 
tion of the Letters, Maxims, and Practices of the Blessed Margaret 
Mary Alacoque. Edited by Eleanor C. Donnelly. 32mo, cloth, 
red edges, gilt side. With a steel-plate Frontispiece, 50 cents. 

Sacred Heart, Month of the, for the Young Christian. By 

Brother Philippe. From the French by E. A. Mulligan. 32mo, 
cloth, 5° cents. 

Sacred Heart of Jesus. Short Meditations for the Month of June. 
By R. F. Clarke, S.J. 181110, mar., gilt side, 15 cents ; per 100, $10 00 

Sacred Heart Studied in the Sacred Scriptures. By Rev. H. 
Saintrain. C.SS.R. Crown 8vo, cloth, net , $2 00 

Sacred Heart, Revelations of the, to Blessed Margaret Mary; 

and the History of her Life. From the French of Monseigneur 
Bougaud, by a Visitandine of Baltimore. Crown 8vo, cloth, net , $1 50 

Year of the Sacred Heart. A Thought for Every Day cf the Year. 
Drawn from the works of Pere de la Colombiere, of Blessed 
Margaret Mary, and of others. 32010, cloth, 50 cents. 

Saints, The-New, of 1888: St. John Berchmans, S.J.; St. Peter 
Claver, S.J ; St. Alphonsus Rodriguez, S.J.; and the Seven Sainted 
Founders of the Servites. By Rev. Francis Goldie, S.J., and Rev. 
Father Scola, S.J. i8mo. cloth. With 4 full-page illustrations, 50 cts. 




14 BENZIOER BROTHERS’ STANDARD CATHOLIC BOOKS. 


Schouppe, 5 hort Sermons for Low Masses. Comprising a 

complete, brief course of instruction on Christian Doctrine. By Rev. 
F. X. Schouppe S.J. Second edition. i2mo, cloth, net , $i 25 

Secret of Sanctity, The. According to St. Francis de Sales and 
Father Crasset, S.J. From the French, by Miss Ella McMahon. 
i2mo, cloth, net , $1 00 

Seraphic Guide. A Manual for the Members of the Third Order of 
St. Francis. According to the recent decisions of the Holy See. By 
A Franciscan Father. (Cust. S.Joan. Bapt.J Cloth, 60 cents. 
Roan, red edges, 75 cents. 

The same in German at the same prices. 

Sermons for the Sundays and Chief Festivals of the Ecclesiastical 
Year. With Two Courses of Lenten Sermons and a Triduum for the 
Forty Hours. By Rev. Julius Pottgeisser, S.J. From the German 
by Rev. James Conway, S.J. 2 vols., 121110, cloth, net , $2 50 

Sermons Moral and Dogmatic on the Fifteen Mysteries of 
the Holy Rosary. By Rev. M. J. Frings. Translated by J. R. 
Robinson. i2mo, cloth, net , $1 00 

Short Stories on Christian Doctrine: A Collection of Examples 
illustrating the Catechism. From the French by Miss Mary McMahon. 
121110, cloth. With six full-page illustrations, $1 00 

Simplicity in Prayer. From the French, by a Daughter of St. 

Francis de Sales, Baltimore. 32mo, cloth, net , 30 cents. 

Six Sermons on Devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. From 
the German of Rev. Dr. E. Bierbaum, by Miss Ella McMahon. 
i6mo, cloth, net , c 60 

Smith, Rev. S. B., D.D. 

Elements of Ecclesiastical Law. Compiled with reference to the 
Syllabus, the “Const. Apostolicse Sedis” of Pope Pius IX., the 
Council of the Vatican, and the latest decisions of the Roman Con¬ 
gregations. 

Vol. I. Ecclesiastical Persons. 8vo, cloth, net , $2 50 

Vol. II. Ecclesiastical Trials. 8vo, cloth, net , $2 50 

Vol. III. Ecclesiastical Punishments. 8vo, cloth, net , $2 50 

-Compendium Juris Canonici, ad usum Cleri et Seminariorum, 

hujus regionis accomodatum. Third edition. Crown 8vo, cloth, net , $2 00 

- The Marriage Process in the United States. 8vo, cloth, 

net , $2 50 

Socialism Exposed and Refuted. By Rev. Victor Cathrein, 
S.J. A Chapter from the author’s Moral Philosophy. From the German. 
By Rev. James Conway, S.J. i2mo, cloth, net , 75 cents. 

Solid Virtue: A Triduum and Spiritual Conferences. By Rev. 
Father Bellecius, S.J. From the Latin, by a Father of the Society 
OF Jesus. With the permission of Superiors. i6mo, cloth, 60 cents. 






BENZIGEB BROTHERS’ STANDARD CATHOLIC BOOKS. 15 

Souvenir of the Novitiate. Especially intended for the use of 
Religious Communities devoted to the Education of Youth. From the 
French by Rev. Edward I. Taylor. 32010, cloth, 75 cents. 

Spiritual Crumbs for Hungry Little Souls. To which are 
added Stories from the Bible. By Mary E. Richardson. i6mo, 
cIoth * net, 40 cents. 

Stories for First Communicants, for the Time before and after 
First Communion. Drawn from the best authorities by Rev. J. A. 
Keller, D.D. 32100, cloth, 50 cents; maroquette, 35 cents. 

St. Teresa’s Own Words; or, Instructions on the Prayer of Recol¬ 
lection. 32mo, cloth, go cents. 

Sunday-School Teacher’s Manual; or, The Art of teaching 
Catechism, bor the use of Teachers and Parents. By Rev. A. A. 
Lambing. 16100, cloth, 75 cents. 


Sure Way to a Happy Marriage. A Book of Instructions for 
those Betrothed and for Married People. From the German by Rev. 
Edward I. Taylor. (25th Thousand.) 

Paper, 30 cents; per 100, $1800 

Maroquette, 40 “ “ 24 00 

Cloth, 60 “ “ 36 00 

Tales and Legends of the Middle Ages. From the Spanish of 
F. De P. Capella. By Henry Wilson. i6mo, fancy binding, $1 00 


Think Well On’t ; or, Reflections on the Great Truths of the Christian 
Religion, for every Day of the Month. By the Right Rev. R. 
Challoner, D.D. 32mo, cloth, flexible, 20 cents. 


Thought from St. Alphonsus, for Every Day of the Year. 32010, 
cloth, 50 cents. 

Thought from Benedictine Saints. 32010, cloth, 50 cents. 

Thought from Dominican Saints. 32010, cloth, 50 cents. 

Thought from St. Francis Assisi and his Saints. 32mo, 

cloth, 50 cents. 

Thought from St. Ignatius. 32010, cloth, 50 cents. 

Thought from St. Teresa. 32mo, cloth, 50 cents. 

Thought from St. Vincent de Paul. 3 2i «o, clotn, 50 cents. 

True Spouse of Christ; or, The Nun Sanctified by the Virtues of her 
State. By St. Alphonsus Liguori. Crown 8vo, cloth, $1 50 

Truths of Salvation. By Rev. J. Pergmayr, S.J. From the 
German by a Father of the same Society. i6mo, cloth, $1 00 


Twelve Virtues, The, of a Good Teacher. For Mothers, Instructors, 
and all charged with the Education of Girls. By Rev. II. Pottier, 
S.J. From the French. 32ino, flexible, cloth, red edges, net, 30 cents. 





16 BENZTGER BROTHERS’ STANDARD CATHOLIC BOOKS. 


Visits to the Most Holy Sacrament and to the Blessed Virgin 
Mary. For Every Day of the Month. By St. Alphonsus de Liguori. 
Edited by Rev. Eugene Grimm. 321110, cloth, 50 cents ; mar., 35 cents. 

219 Persian calf, padded, fancy stamping, round corners, edges red under gold $i 33 
127 German calf, limp, gilt centre, round corners, edges red under gold. 1 80 

Ward, Rev. Thomas F. 

Thirty=two Instructions for the Month of May and for the Feasts 
of the Blessed Virgin. From the French. i2tno, cloth, net , 75 cents. 
Fifty=two Instructions on the Principal Truths of Our Iloly 

Religion. From the French. i2mo, cloth, net, 75 cents. 

Way of Interior Peace. Dedicated to Our Lady of Peace. By Rev. 
Father De Lehen, S.J. Translated from the German Version of Rev. 
James Brucker, S.J., by a Religious. i2mo, cloth, net , $1 25 

Weninger’s Sermons. 

1. Original Short and Practical Sermons for Every Sunday of 
the Year. Three Sermons for Every Sunday. 8vo, cloth, net, %200 

2. Sermons for Every Feast of the Ecclesiastical Year. Three 

Sermons for Every Feast. 8vo, cloth, net, $2 00 

3. Conferences specially addressed to Married and Unmarried 

Men. 8vo, cloth, net, $2 00 

4. Conferences for Married and Unmarried Women. 8vo, 

cloth, net, $2 00 

5. Original Short and Practical Sermons in honor of the Blessed 

Sacrament. Thirty-six Sermons, in twelve divisions, three in each. 
8vo, cloth, net, $1 75 

What Catholics have done for Science, with Sketches of the 

great Catholic Scientists. By Rev. Martin S. Brennan. i2mo, 
cloth, $1 00 

Will of God, The. From the French, by M. A. M. To which is added 
an easy Method of Attending Holy Mass with Profit, by St. Leonard 
of Port-Maurice. 

Paper, 10 cents; per 100, $6 00 

Maroquette, 20 “ “ 12 00 

Women of Catholicity: Margaret O’Carroll—Isabella of Castile— 
Margaret Roper—Marie de l'lncarnation—Margaret Bourgeoys—Ethan 
Allen’s Daughter. By Miss Anna T. Sadi.ier. i2mo, cloth, $1 00 

Words of Jesus Christ during His Passion, explained in their 
Literal and Moral Sense. Translated from the French of Rev. F, X. 
Schouppe, S.J., by Rev. J. J. Quinn. Maroquette, silver side, 25 cents. 

Words of Wisdom. A Concordance of the Sapiential Books. From 
the French. i2mo, cloth, net, $1 25 

Zeal in the Work of the Ministry; or, The Means by which every 
Priest may render his ministry Honorable and Fruitful. From the 
French of L’Abbe Dubois. Crown 8vo, cloth, net, $i 50 















































































































